


Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

by campsearchlight



Series: Unforgettable [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eventual Sex, F/M, Slow Burn, occasional canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6803290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campsearchlight/pseuds/campsearchlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes up in a strange town. Nameless, no past, but wealthy with a killer headache. Dubbing herself Courier Six, she sets out to find the man who tried to kill her––and save the Mojave Wasteland from the same fate...</p><p>Maybe. She'll see what she can do, because when a lovely flame dies, smoke tends to get in your eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She wakes–and it comes back to her in a rush, pounding through her already-pounding head. 

Hands tied, knees pressed hard into the dirt, grimy face turned upward. A checkered suit jacket, a loaded pistol, but the face... She can't remember the face.

Her _head_ –

She groans, gripping her head with both hands, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain. The familiar weight of the Pip-Boy on her left forearm is a small comfort. 

"And, she lives," a weathered voice says.

She opens her eyes, and they immediately land on an old man sitting in a chair by her bed. He smiles warmly at her, but she can't smile back. 

"Thought for sure you'd be a goner," he says. "I was wondering if you'd ever wake up."

She opens her mouth to speak but finds that her throat and mouth are dry as the desert.

The desert. The heat. The grit in her teeth. 

The voice. 

His words ring out in her mind, clear as day. 

_"You've made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene. From where you're kneeling, must seem like an eighteen-karat run of bad luck. Truth is... the game was rigged from the start."_

She sits up so fast, it makes her vision swim. She claps a hand to her forehead, blocking out a bit of light. It doesn't help much. 

"Hold on, there," the man says, reaching out to her but not making contact. "Might wanna take it easy. Not too many people survive a shot to the head."

Her hand falls away, her eyes narrowed at him. "And, what makes me so special?"

The man lifts his shoulders. "Probably got a strong will to live. That's hardly special, though."

She feels her mouth curl in a smirk. She likes this guy. "What's your name?"

"Doc Mitchell," he says. "What's yours?"

She should probably have that answer ready. It should come to her naturally, like breathing or blinking. 

It doesn't. 

"That's a good question, Doc," she says. "I can't remember."

"Hmm." Doc Mitchell leans forward in his seat to grab something resting at his feet. A small, light brown satchel that's probably seen more sun than he has. "Here. This is yours. Was all you had on you when you was brought in."

She accepts the satchel and shoves a hand into it. She feels out an old ten-millimeter pistol, a handful of bullets, a pack of bubblegum, and a crumpled piece of paper. She flips open the paper, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. She quickly scans the page, pulling out the vital information. 

Basically, it reads: _MOJAVE EXPRESS DELIVERY ORDER (6 OF 6). Package to be delivered at the north entrance to the Vegas Strip, by way of Freeside... An agent of the recipient will accept the package and pay for the delivery... Bring payment to Johnson Nash at the Mojave Express agency in Primm... Package contains one oversized poker chip, composed of platinum... Payment of two hundred and fifty caps upon completion._

She folds the paper and puts it back into the bag, then looks up at Doc Mitchell. "I'm some sort of courier, looks like. The sixth out of six."

"No name?" he asks. 

"No name," she confirms. 

"Guess we'll just have to call you Courier Six, huh?" he jokes. 

She smiles. She kind of likes the sound of it. "Guess so."

He smiles back. "Well, now, Six." He sticks out his right hand. "It's a pleasure to meet ya."

She shakes his hand. "Likewise, Doc."

"Maybe you should try to stand up, walk around a little. See if you can handle it."

Courier pushes her satchel onto the bed and stands up. She gets a head rush, but she's okay after a few moments of standing statue-still. 

"You okay?" Doc Mitchell asks. 

She nods. "Just got a major headache, but I'm fine."

"Take a few steps."

She does. A little wobbly at first, then she falls into a strut that she had before the head wound. 

"Doin' good," he says, finally standing. "Looks like you'll be alright."

"Alright enough to hunt down the guy who shot me?" she asks, turning to face him. 

His white eyebrows rise, but he doesn't object. "I think that's up to you."

But, she's already made up her mind.

* * *

Doc Mitchell pointed Courier to the Prospector Saloon, saying the bartender there, Trudy, might be able to give her more information on the man in the checkered jacket. 

Pushing open the creaky door, Courier steps into the dim space. Though it was a short walk from the doctor's house to here, she's glad to be out of the harsh desert sun. 

However, Courier's walked into something she wishes she hadn't. 

A man in a blue uniform and a bulletproof vest stands by the bar, speaking to the woman behind it, who Courier assumes is Trudy. "If you won't give us Ringo, we'll burn down this shithole of a town and take him."

"I told you, I don't know where he went," Trudy snaps. "Now, either buy something, or get the hell _out_."

The man scoffs, spits on the floor, and walks toward the exit, bumping shoulders with Courier on the way. She has half a mind to knock him senseless, but she refrains. 

When she steps up to the bar, Trudy gives her a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, you must be the girl Victor saved." 

"Sorry," Courier says, taking a seat at the bar, "Victor?"

"Oh, Mitchell didn't tell you? That Securitron dug you up out of the ground, saw you were still alive, and brought you to the doc's house. Lucky for you."

Courier blinks at the woman. "Is, ah, Victor still around?"

"Sure is. He stays in the little shack down the road, near the schoolhouse."

"Thanks. I'll pay him a visit." 

The woman's smile becomes genuine. "Did you wanna order something, sweetie?"

"Uh, actually, I don't have any caps. I just wanted to ask you some questions, if that's okay with you."

"Well, that's fine. Whatcha drinkin', honey? After what you've been through, it's on the house."

"Oh, um, scotch. Please. Thank you." She mentally goes over her questions as Trudy goes about pouring her drink. Once it's in her hand, Courier continues. "A man in a checkered suit jacket. Do you remember anyone like that coming through here?"

Trudy leans her elbows against the bar. "Matter of fact, I do."

"Any idea where he went?" 

She shakes her head. "He came in the night you... well, you know. He had a drink–scotch, too, actually–and went on his way. I think he might've went south, toward Primm."

Primm was mentioned in the delivery order. Courier knows the New Vegas area the best, but her memory of the surrounding is a little hazy. She's glad for the map on her Pip-Boy. 

"That's all I wanted to know. Thank you." She takes a sip of her drink, relishing the feeling of the burn in her throat as it goes down. One thing is bothering her, though. "Who was that guy?" 

Trudy rolls her eyes. "Joe Cobb. He's a low-down, dirty Powder Ganger, lookin' for a caravaner, Ringo. Ain't no way I'm tellin' him where Ringo is."

"Have they been giving you a lot of trouble?" 

Trudy gives Courier a hard look, like she's trying to figure her out. "Yeah, some. Why? You gonna take 'em out for us?"

"I could, if you'd like me to." Courier takes another sip. 

Trudy folds her arm over her chest. "Alright. You help us, and I'll make sure you get a good discount here in the saloon whenever you're in town."

Courier nods. "Sounds good to me, ma'am."

"Well, then, you might wanna go talk to Ringo. He's holed up in that gas station, up the hill from Doc Mitchell's place."

Courier throws back the rest of her drink and pushes the glass toward Trudy. "Thanks for the drink. I'll be back soon."

"Alright, hon." 

Courier leaves the saloon, passing by the snoozing old man on the porch. She looks around, spots the gas station, and starts toward it. She does her best to ignore the sweat rolling down her back in waves. 

When she pulls open the door, she's met with the barrel of a shotgun. 

"Hold it right there," the man behind the gun growls, looking like he wouldn't mind much if he had to pull the trigger. "Who are you?"

"Good question," Courier says. "I'm Courier. And, I'm guessing you're Ringo."

He looks her over. "You're not a Powder Ganger, are you?"

"Does it look like I fuck sticks of dynamite for fun?"

He laughs, "Fair enough," and the shotgun is lowered, but only slightly. If he pulled the trigger, she'd get a chest full of lead. "So, what do you want?" 

"Hey, I'm only here to help. Trudy told me you need some help taking out the Gangers, and I haven't done my good deed for today, so..."

He drops the shotgun to his side. "Courier, you said?"

"Yep."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, my friend."

They shake hands. 

"What're they after you for?" she asks. 

"They want to kill me," he says, simply, as if telling her his birthday or his favorite color. 

"Um... why, though?"

"I'm with the Crimson Caravan," he begins, leaning his hip against the counter that holds a rusty cash register. "About a week ago, I was traveling down the I-Fifteen when a group of Powder Gangers attacked me. They robbed me, but I got away. Ran here, and Trudy let me hide in here. I've been trying to lay low. Looks like it's not working."

"Ah, hell." Courier scratches her jaw. "Look, I can take out those assholes for ya."

Ringo raises an eyebrow. "You'd do that for me?"

"I mean, I'd want something in return. Obviously."

"What did you have in mind?"

"You got any caps? I have exactly zero, and that's no way to walk around the Mojave."

He smirks. "I'll give you a hundred after they're dead."

She takes in a hissing breath, not liking his offer. "How many of them were there?"

"Five, I think."

"A hundred's a _little_ low."

"Two hundred, then."

"Deal." 

They shake on it. 

"Let's go kill some fuckwads," Courier says, turning to the door. "I want 'em dead by sunset."

"You want me to come with you?"

She turns back to raise an eyebrow at him. "Uh, yeah...?" 

"I didn't agree to that," he says, placing his fists on his hips. 

"It'll be three hundred caps, then, my guy."

Ringo stares at her, his lips pursed. "Alright. But, if I die, you're not getting your caps."

She only grins in response.

* * *

For the second time today, Courier sits at the saloon's bar. This time, however, she has a gun in her hand, instead of a drink, and she faces the booths against the wall. Sitting at the booths are Trudy, Doc Mitchell, Ringo, a woman named Sunny Smiles with a mean-looking dog named Cheyenne, Easy Pete–the sleeping man from the porch–and a few settlers. If Ringo was right about the Gangers, this group easily outnumbers them. 

"The plan," Courier begins, because somehow she's become the ringleader of this firefight, "is to not get killed."

"Good plan," Easy Pete rasps, "only it ain't much of one."

Courier gives him a look. "Hey, I'm not here to boss anyone around."

"Alright, alright," Doc Mitchell says, lifting a hand. "Everybody, just stay behind cover, and we'll be fine."

"We can move those motorcycles out front into a line," Sunny suggests. 

"Good idea, Sunny," Trudy says, gripping the other woman's shoulder. "Let's get movin', y'all."

The group heads out front. 

Before Courier can leave, Ringo grabs her wrist and says, "Despite me paying you, I want to thank you for doing this. I never expected anyone to fight for me."

"Thank me when it's over," she says, gently removing her wrist from his grasp. "Let's go help 'em move those bikes."

Ringo nods, and they join the others outside. They've already managed to move one motorcycle. Together, they move the other three to make a decent wall of cover. 

Just after they've moved the last one, one of the settlers shouts, "They're coming!"

Everyone ducks behind the wall. Courier is pressed firmly between Ringo and Doc Mitchell. She checks her magazine for the fifth time and then clicks off the safety. She never was the best shot, but she could handle a gun. 

She peeks over the seat of the bike she's behind and sees the dark figures growing larger against the horizon. 

Ten of them. 

She looks at Ringo. "I'll need another hundred."

He gives an embarrassed smile, clutching his shotgun close to his chest. "You'll get it."

She thrusts her hand into his face, and he releases the gun from his right hand to shake hers. 

"People of Goodsprings," the leader of the group, Joe Cobb, calls out when they get closer, "hand over Ringo, and we'll go!"

"Over my dead body!" Courier shouts, earning her a concerned look from Doc Mitchell. 

"As you wish!"

The first shot rings out from the Powder Gangers, sending adrenaline flooding through Courier's veins. She throws her arm over the bike, aims at Joe Cobb, and pulls the trigger four times in rapid succession. Right after her third shot, the others join in. A couple of the Gangers immediately drop, unmoving. 

Cobb remains upright, though a splotch of blood has appeared in the left shoulder of his shirt. He and the remaining five begin to zigzag as they advance, making it considerably more difficult to aim at them. 

The sound of a body hitting the ground makes Courier look to her right. One of the settlers lies dead, a bullet having made a mess of their forehead. 

Courier looks away, grits her teeth, and then stands. 

"We got a brave one, guys!" Cobb announces with a laugh. "Get 'er!"

She aims at him and pulls the trigger again. She misses, but the shot lands on one of the others. He goes down, clutching his leg and cursing. One of the Goodsprings folks puts him out of his misery. 

Another of the Gangers lights a stick of dynamite and chucks it. Easy Pete, of all people, snatches it out of the air and throws it right back, thoroughly impressing Courier. 

The dynamite detonates upon impact, throwing a couple of the Gangers onto their butts. The others take them out, leaving Cobb advancing on his own. 

Cobb levels his pistol at her. "Give me Ringo, and I'll let you all live."

"That'd be so fucking _stupid_ on your part," Courier says. She shoots, hitting him in the chest. His vest blocked the shot, but he stumbles back a few steps, wheezing. 

That's when Ringo gets up, cocks his shotgun, and fires. 

When he hits the ground, Cobb no longer has a head. 

The rest of the Gangers pause. Their shock gives the opposing group the opportunity to put them down. 

Cheers erupt from the motorcycle wall. 

Courier lets out a relieved sigh and looks at Ringo. His shotgun is still up, but it shakes in his hands. Courier places her hand on the barrel and pushes it down. Only then does he look at her. 

"Wow" is all he says. 

"You okay?" she asks. 

"Y-yeah," he stutters, resting his gun against the motorcycle. He runs his hands down his face, leaving streaks in the dust. "That's, um, a relief."

She claps him on the shoulder, grabs on, and gives him a firm shake. "You did great."

He looks at her, his eyes wide. "Well... thank you. For everything."

She smiles and nods. "It wasn't a problem."

He smiles slightly, then nods for them to move away from the group. She follows him a distance away, until they're standing in front of the general goods store.

"I... I have the caps," he says. "Only... not on me."

The smile slips off Courier's face. "Come again?"

"I told you I'm a caravaner, right? And that I was robbed?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah, so, I _do_ have the caps, I swear. They're just up north, at the Crimson Caravan compound."

"Fuck."

"I'm so sorry. I should've told you. I really should've–"

"Yeah, man, you should've fucking told me."

"I have a hundred up at the gas station," he says. "It's yours. I'll just owe ya two more hundred."

She gives him a critical look, her mouth pressed into a hard line. "Crimson Caravan, right?"

He nods. 

"Next time I'm up that way, I'll ask for Ringo. If you don't show up, I'll hunt you down. Got it?"

"Got it."

She clears her throat. "Alright. Well, let me get those caps, and then I gotta go down to Primm."

"Right now?" He glances at the sun, which is just about touching the horizon. "It's a long walk from here to there."

Courier checks the time on her Pip-Boy. "Yeah, you're right. I'll get moving in the morning. But, I'll still need those caps."

"C'mon, I'll get 'em for ya."

* * *

After getting her caps, Courier goes to see Victor. 

The Securitron stands outside a small shack on the edge of town, his screen displaying a graphic of a smiling, cartoonish cowboy face. 

"Are you Victor?" she asks, just to make sure. 

"I sure am," he replies in a twangy southern accent. "Howdy! I'm glad to see you're alive and well."

"Yeah, um... I was told you saved me."

"Aw, hardly. I'd give that credit to Doc Mitchell. I only happened to see what happened. Saw you were still alive when they buried you. So, when they left, I dug you up and brought you to the doc. He took it from there."

She looks up at the unchanging face on his screen. "Well, I just wanted to thank you. So... thank you."

"Anytime, partner, anytime."

* * *

Courier lies in the bed she woke up in that morning, staring at the dark ceiling. In another part of the house, she can hear Doc Mitchell's snoring. But, that's not what's keeping her up. 

Her thoughts carry her to the checkered jacket, the pistol glinting in the moonlight, the explosion of pain. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the images away, but she suspects they'll haunt her for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

The gigantic, wooden rollercoaster in the distance tips Courier off that she's nearing Primm. She had gotten up with the sun and went around to say her farewells to the good people of Goodsprings–only to find that Ringo had disappeared in the night. The thought that he'd swindled her crosses her mind. If he's not at the Crimson Caravan when she shows up, she'll make it a point to find him. She's sure that's a trait she carried over from before. 

Courier comes across a broken overpass–but maybe it's an underpass, since she's standing over it. A man in a dusty brown uniform stands watch on one side of the gap in the concrete, his eyes fixed on the town across from him. From the flag of a two-headed bear waving over a small camp behind the man, she gathers that he's from the New California Republic. 

Interesting. 

"'Scuse me!" she calls, and the man whirls toward her, combat rifle up. She puts up her hands. "Easy, my guy."

"Who are you?" he demands. 

"I'm a courier with the Mojave Express. Just trying to get in contact with my boss, Johnson Nash."

The man lowers his rifle with a look that suggests he thinks she's an idiot. "Go in at your own risk. Place is swarming with Powder Gangers. They've already killed the sheriff and taken the deputy hostage."

Courier sighs. More none-of-her business to take care of. "Alright, thanks. You happen to have any ten-mil rounds? I got exactly three."

The man pats down his pockets, then gives a firm shake of his head. "Sorry, ma'am."

Fuck her lousy shot. That's probably what got her shot in the head in the first place. 

With her handgun and three fucking bullets, she marches across the makeshift bridge between the NCR camp and Primm. 

As soon as she steps foot on the other side, she hears the telltale beeping of frag mines. 

With a yelp, she backpedals right into the NCR soldier's lookout point. A second later, the mine explodes, sending up a small cloud of dust.

"Oh, right," the soldier says, scratching his head under his helmet. He points vaguely across the bridge. "I forgot to tell you about the mines."

She throws an accusatory glare over her shoulder, spits out a " _Thanks_ ," and then starts back across. Stupid fucking NCR. They're no good at anything. 

When she makes it around the rest of the mines, she looks around. It's a veritable ghost town. A quick glance around shows her the Bison Steve Hotel, the Vikki and Vance Casino, and–what she's looking for–the Mojave Express. She starts toward the last one.

A few yards away, she pauses, just now noticing the man sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. When she draws closer, she finds that he's dead, a bullet hole in his head. With a quick pat-down over his torso, she finds nothing but a piece of paper. A delivery order, just like hers. Fourth out of six. This poor sucker had the same instructions she did, though his package–according to the order–contained two oversized dice, composed of fuzzy material.

Courier folds the piece of paper and tucks it into her satchel, next to her own delivery order. _Sorry, Courier Four_. She pushes open the door to the Mojave Express. 

The building is devoid of life. The only thing of interest is the big metal sphere, spiked with various antennae, sitting motionless on the front counter. 

"What the hell is an eyebot doing here?" she asks herself, running her hand over the dented metal. 

It doesn't do to dwell too long on the curiosity that is the eyebot, so she heads back out, deciding to cross the street to the casino. When she pulls open that door, she has to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. 

"Ho, there!" a rough voice says. 

She blinks hard a few times, and her eyes focus on an old man standing before her. "Hi," she says. "I'm looking for Johnson Nash."

"Don't you remember me?"

She stares at him, but it seems it's not just her name that she's forgotten. "Shit, I'm sorry, sir. I'm drawing a blank."

He laughs. "Johnson Nash. Your employer."

"Hell, I'm sorry. I, ah, got shot in the head, so I'm a little fuzzy on some things."

"You–you _what_?"

She mimes a gun to her temple and says, " _Bang_."

"Holy hell, kid. How are you still alive?"

"Bit of good luck," she replies, extending her hand. "You don't happen to know my name, do you?"

He shakes his head and her hand. "You never gave it to me. Sorry."

She feels herself deflate. "Well, people have been calling me Courier Six, so that'll do for now."

He chuckles. "Nice to meet you, Six."

She smiles a little, but then it falls. "So, with me getting shot in the head... I couldn't deliver the package I was supposed to. Seems like the guy who shot me took it with him."

He sighs, turning slightly away for a moment and running his hand down his wrinkled face. "That ain't good."

"I'm really sorry, sir."

"Hey, hey, none of that," he says, waving a hand. "Ain't your fault, kid. I don't know if you saw the guy sitting out front of the building across the way, but it looks like he was a victim of the same kind."

"Yeah, I saw him. But, did you see the guy who did it?" 

"If I had, he wouldn't have got to you."

She grins. "I like you, Mr. Nash."

"Call me Johnson." 

She nods once. "So, you didn't see him. Any idea who else might've?" 

"Maybe the sheriff, but he's lying dead in his house right now. The next closest would be Deputy Beagle. Unfortunately, he's being held captive in the hotel. If you could find a way to get him out of there, I'm sure he could help you."

Shit. Courier nods again. "That eyebot across the street–it any good?"

"ED-E? Might be, if you could repair some damaged cables. I couldn't wrap my head around all that. It's yours if you can fix it up." 

Despite the suddenness of the offer, she manages to let out a "Thank you, sir."

"Least I could do." He holds his hand out to the casino floor, where a car riddled with bullet holes sits on a platform in the center. "Welcome to the Vikki and Vance Casino. It sounds to me like you've had a rough week, so you might wanna take a load off here, where it's safest. Talk to my wife, Ruby, if you're hungry. She's that statuesque woman sitting over there." He points at a beat-up blackjack table, where an old woman sits, idly swirling the glass in her hand. "She makes the best radscorpion venom casserole."

"I'll take her up on that after I take another look at ED-E," Courier says. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare baseball bat around, would you?"

Johnson shakes his head. "We don't have much ammo to spare, either."

"Ah. Just my luck," she chuckles. "I'll see you later."

"Alright, now. Be careful out there."

Courier heads back to the Mojave Express building and starts poking around the sphere. She finds a loose panel and pries it off to take a look inside. A few of the cables have frayed. One cable just fell out of its port. She locates a screwdriver and some electrical tape behind the counter and goes to work.

It takes her a while and a lot of head-scratching, but she manages to put everything back where it's supposed to be. She flips the power switch and leans against the counter as the machine warms up. 

ED-E makes a few beeps that almost sound surprised and lifts off the counter. 

Courier laughs as the eyebot floats about the front room. "Feel better, ED-E?"

It gives an affirmative-sounding beep. 

"Good, good. Mind coming with me?" 

It beeps again, and she thinks it's saying, _"Let's go."_

Together, they go to the Bison Steve Hotel. 

In the lobby, Courier crouches for stealth. She knows she's being stupid, going in with three bullets and no backup other than a beat-up eyebot, but she's not exactly wealthy with options. She just hopes its aim is better than hers. 

Just as she's about to move out of the lobby, someone comes _into_ it. 

She gasps wildly, falling back on her heels. She whips up her gun and pulls the trigger. The resulting bang blasts a hole in the Powder Ganger's head. 

Two bullets left. 

She clambers away from the threshold and presses her back into a corner as ED-E zooms over the body. After a few silent moments, she hears the pop and sizzle of a laser, followed by incoherent shouting that gets cut off short. 

If she weren't pressed for ammunition, and if she had something she could swing with both hands, she'd be in there with ED-E, doing what she's good at: bashing heads in. However, her life has always been something she valued above all else, so she waits there. 

Once the clamor has ceased, she crouches again and moves to the hallway. A few bodies with steam rising from fresh wounds litter the floor. ED-E flies toward her and stops a few feet away. 

"You're a smart little bug, aren't ya?" she asks it. Its lack of a reply isn't surprising to her. "Any more baddies?" 

ED-E remains silent. She takes that as a _no_.

Courier straightens, though she moves at half her normal speed, straining her ears for any hint of movement. It's a little hard, since ED-E's machinery is constantly whirring. She only stops to loot the bodies, finding a stimpak and a few .308 rounds. As she searches, she stumbles upon the deputy, kneeling in the kitchen with his hands tied behind his back. 

Beagle looks up at her, defiance in his eyes. "Here to finish the job, huh?"

Courier scoffs. "This is what I get for saving your ass? Damn, you country folks sure lack some manners."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You... Powder Ganger...?"

"Nope." She moves around him to untie his wrists. "Let's get you out of here. Some fresh air might help you form coherent sentences."

Together, they head out through the main entrance. Once there, Beagle drags in a deep, shaky breath. 

"Holy hell," he says, blinking rapidly in the sunlight, "that was a nightmare."

Courier wants to laugh. This guy doesn't know nightmares. 

"You alright?" she asks instead of laughing in his face. 

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I'm just... a little shaken up. I'll be fine." He takes in another deep breath. "I should thank you, though. For saving me."

"It was a purely selfish act, I assure you."

"Of course," he says with a slight frown. "What do you want?"

"Information on the guy in the checkered jacket."

"Oh, him? I think he was headed down toward Novac. Why?"

Lifting her Pip-Boy, she begins planning out a route, saying, "He shot me in the head, so I'm gonna kill him." Her eyes dart over the screen, selecting Nipton as a good checkpoint between Primm and Novac.

"'Scuse me?"

"You heard me," she says, lifting her other hand to check her fingernails. A fine line of dirt sullies the underside of each one. She needs gloves. Gloves and a baseball bat. "Anyway, you good enough to take over as sheriff? Heard the last guy is bloatfly food now."

He grimaces. "I'm not taking over as sheriff. We'll have to find someone else."

"Any ideas?"

"Primm Slim can be reprogrammed to act as sheriff," he says. "There also might be a guy named Meyer down at the NCR Correctional Facility that might be good. Or, well, the NCR themselves."

"Wait. Who the fuck is Primm Slim?"

"You didn't see him in the casino?"

She rolls her eyes. "I must've missed him." 

"He's a Protectron. I gotta tell ya, though: If he becomes sheriff, I'll resign."

Courier scowls. "Why?" 

"He'd be cold, too guided by the letter of the law."

"Isn't that the fucking point?"

He shrugs. 

"Start writing your resignation letter, then, buddy." She starts toward the casino to seek out Primm Slim. 

Beagle jogs to catch up. "You're not seriously considering him, are you?"

"Look," she says, her hand on the door handle to the casino, "this is none of my goddamn business. You want someone else? Go get him. But, I'm sure everyone else'd rather have a robot than a convict or the NCR."

Beagle's mouth presses into a hard line under his scraggly mustache. 

"That's what I thought." She enters the casino, not bothering to hold the door open for him. Luckily, ED-E managed to fly in before her. 

Now that she knows what to look for, Courier locates the stetson-wearing Protectron, who roams around the casino floor. She makes a beeline for him, circles around his back, and pops open his control panel. She must have been some kind of technological wizard before, because she's able to reprogram him in less than two minutes. All the while, she ignores the curious stares around her. 

Once she closes the panel, Primm Slim makes a sharp buzzing noise. Then, he says, "Law enforcement protocols reinstated, pardner. Initializing use of force authorization... authorization found. Yee-haw!"

Courier stands back and watches him make for the exit. "Alright, folks, there goes your new sheriff!" she announces, gesturing at the Protectron. "I expect you'll all treat him the way you'd treat any other sheriff."

She gets a few murmurs of assent, and that's enough. 

"Bye, everyone! Bye, Johnson!" Just as she says his name, she remembers that she agreed to take Ruby up on a meal, but it's too late for that now; she doesn't feel like eating with Beagle glaring daggers at her. But, she'll come back again sometime soon to rectify that. 

She and ED-E follow Primm Slim out the door, passing by a scowling, former-deputy Beagle.

* * *

Nipton is marked on her Pip-Boy's map. It's not far away; they make it there by sunset. 

In real life, however, Nipton is marked overhead by a cloud of dark, coiling smoke. At the sight of it, she freezes in her tracks to stare up at it. After a moment, she lets her eyes drift downward as a person comes running out of town, hooting and hollering, waving a hand over his head. 

"I won!" he's yelling as he draws nearer. "I fucking won!"

Her eyes pick up something grasped in his waving hand. A small piece of paper. 

"What'd ya win?" she asks him right as he's about to pass her. 

"I won the fucking lottery!" he exclaims. 

"Lottery? What fuckin' lottery, dude?"

He hoots again. "I won my _life_!" With that, he runs off the way he was heading, the way she came from. 

She watches him for a few moments over her shoulder before pressing on with a "C'mon, ED-E."

The town is a fucking disaster. For a split second, she can't help but think that this is maybe what the whole world looked like when the bombs fell all those years ago. Only this is probably worse, since the main road is lined with crucifixes, men and women tied to them. Most of them are still just barely alive–and they call out weakly when they see her. 

Courier's eyes widen considerably, and then she rushes to the nearest building and throws herself inside, giving ED-E just enough time to follow her before she shuts the door. She turns and presses her sweat-damp back to the door. Once her eyes adjust to the room, they focus on a man sitting in a chair by what looks like a checkout counter with his legs splayed out awkwardly in front of him.

"You gonna offer me some chems," he begins, his voice hoarse, "or are you just gonna stand there like a fucking idiot?"

"Fuck you, then," she bites back, feeling for the doorknob. 

"Wait! Hold on." He exhales heavily. "Look, I'm sorry. They fucked up my legs, and... and it hurts _real_ bad."

"I don't have any chems," she says. "Sorry."

His head falls into his hands. "Fuck." 

"I'll see if I can find something out there," she offers, feeling a little bad for the guy. In a place like this... if you can't walk, you're good as fucking dead.

"Wait," he says again, looking up at her. "The Legion's out there. They'll kill you."

"We'll see about that. Be back soon." She opens the door, then thinks to ask, "What's your name?"

"Boxcars," he replies. "You?"

Her eyes go back to his fucked-up legs. He's definitely going to die, but she'll help him anyway. Anything to ease the pain. Maybe he'll put himself out of his misery and overdose. However it happens, she hopes it's quick. 

When she meets his eyes again, she says, "Call me Six when I come back, alright?"

He nods once. "Gotcha."

She and ED-E leave the ruined store and head up the main road, doing her damned best to keep her eyes gaze directly ahead of her. Town hall stands at the end of the road, large bonfires blazing on either side of the front door. 

Before all that stands at least ten Legionnaires with one obvious leader. He wears a fucking dog's head as a hat, and Courier has to tell herself to keep her mouth shut so she doesn't say anything about how stupid he looks.

"Halt," Dog Head says. "Who are you?"

"Nobody," she responds. "Who are _you_?"

He seems eager to tell her, a sick smile curling his mouth underneath his sunglasses. "I am Vulpes Inculta of Caesar's Legion. I serve my master as the greatest of his Frumentarii. What business does 'nobody' have here?"

"Just passing through. Saw the smoke and decided to check it out. What happened here?"

"A lesson was taught, Nobody."

"What 'lesson' did you teach here?"

His upper lip pulls back over his teeth. "Where to begin? That they are weak, and we are strong? This much was known already. But, the depths of your moral sickness, your... dissolution? Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson.

"This was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. Profligate troops, Powder Gangers, men of the Legion–such as myself. The people here didn't care. It was a town of whores. For a pittance, the town agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when I sprang it did they realize they were caught inside it, too."

Courier's head spins at this information. On the outside, she keeps a carefully cool expression on her face. "So... what? You captured everyone?"

"Yes–and herded them to the center of town. I told them their sins, the foremost being disloyalty. I told them that when Legionaries are disloyal, some are punished, the others made to watch. And I announced the lottery.

"Each clutched his ticket, hoping it would set him free. Each did nothing, even when 'loved ones' were dragged away to be killed."

Courier senses she's on thin ice here, so she says, "Sounds like they got what was coming to them."

"Yes," he says, "they did. As will the rest of them... in due time. Now, go. Teach them what you learned here. There will be more lessons in the days ahead."

"I see." She fights the urge to back away. "Well, you should probably be on your way to teach your lessons, huh, Wolf-Piss In-a-cult-a?"

Vulpes shakes his head with a derisive scoff. "You will see soon, Nobody. _Vale_."

With that, he and his pack leave. 

Once they're gone, Courier lets out a breath she's been holding, realizing just how close she'd come to being strapped to a cross.


	3. Chapter 3

Courier searches town hall for any kind of chems. She manages a couple of stimpaks, which she selfishly tucks into her satchel without a second thought. She'll most likely need them more than Boxcars will. 

She finds three doses of Med-X in a first aid kit in the women's restroom, as well as a few bobby pins and a bottle of purified water. _Fuck, yeah_. She cracks open the bottle and takes a few greedy gulps. Even though it's warm, it's fan- _fucking_ -tastic. 

She brings the Med-X back to Boxcars. Once she hands them over, she retreats to the other side of the room to sit with her back against the wall. 

"Why'd they do this to you?" she asks, watching as he shoots up the first dose. 

He groans as the chem courses through his bloodstream. "The fuckin' lottery. Prize for second place was that I got to live–but they beat my fucking legs with hammers. I'm fucking _crippled_." He hisses suddenly, pounding a fist against the countertop. 

Courier stares at him for a while–and looks away when he shoots up the second dose. "What'll you do now?"

"Fucking die in here, I fucking guess."

"Is three enough to...?"

"To what? Kill myself with?" He snorts, slowly shaking his head. "No. I'd probably need a lot more."

Courier's pistol suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds when she says, "I could do it for you, if you want."

His eyes snap to her. "You would?"

"If you want," she repeats.

He inhales deeply, letting his head fall back against the wall, letting his eyes fall shut. "Would you make it quick?"

"One shot to the head, and it'd be over. You won't feel a thing." _That's not true_ , she wants to say. _I felt it._ Then again, he just injected himself with pain-numbing chems. He might not feel it at all. She hopes he doesn't.

"I would... appreciate it."

"You're sure?"

He lifts his head to look at her again. "Yeah. Here." He holds out the last Med-X. "Take the last one. You'll need it more than I will," he says with a bitter laugh. 

She gets up, takes the syringe from him, and places it in her satchel. "I'm sorry it's ending like this."

"Me fuckin' too." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face. He looks up at her, half-smiling. "Whenever you're ready, I'm ready."

She removes her pistol from the holster on her right hip and levels the barrel at his forehead. "You're still sure, Boxcars?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." He closes his eyes. "Thank you, Six."

 _Bang_.

One bullet left.

Courier and ED-E leave the general store to hole up in one of the few standing houses on the other side of town. She locks the front and back doors, pushing an end table with a chipped vase on top of it in front of one and wedging a dining chair under the knob of the other. 

Once she's satisfied with her safety precautions, she tears through the house for supplies. First, she comes up with a can of pork and beans, which she immediately stabs open with a stray butter knife. Carefully, she tilts the can and uses her thumbs to guide the gloop into her mouth. She washes it down with a few sips of her water, and then goes on to search the rest of the kitchen. She finds only a box of gumdrops and a can of Cram, both of which are immediately deposited into her satchel. 

The bedroom doesn't have much of anything, though she finds a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into the back of the nightstand's drawer. _Thank God_. The sun had been doing quite the number on her eyes the past two days. 

She curls up on the stripped mattress, the boxspring squealing in protest, and closes her eyes on the fading light.

* * *

She wakes with a start. Without thinking, she checks the time: 7:14. By the sunlight coming in through the cracks of the boarded-up, she gathers that it's morning; she slept for well over twelve hours. 

She sits up and hugs her knees. Drenched in cold sweat, she feels herself shiver. 

That fucking _ugly_ checkered jacket. 

Drawing the back of her hand across her forehead, she gets off the bed and grabs her satchel off the floor. She finds ED-E hovering in one spot in the living room. It beeps once when it sees her. 

"C'mon, ED-E."

Avoiding looking down the main road, she begins the way to Novac. They reach it by the time the sun begins to set. 

If Courier didn't possess a Pip-Boy, she would have recognized Novac from the giant goddamn T-Rex standing out front of the motel. She'd never been to Novac, but she knows she heard of the T-Rex. The sight of it elicits a genuine laugh from her. Of all fucking things, _a dinosaur_.

There is no question on what she should check out first. 

Right as she makes her first step toward it, she stops. 

Standing outside the chain-link fence surrounding the T-Rex is Victor. 

"Victor?" she calls out, even though the graphic of the cowboy couldn't be _less_ mistakable. 

"Howdy!" he says as she approaches him. 

"Are you following me?" Surely, this is too big of a coincidence. 

"Why, no, I'm not," he assures, his tone polite. "I just decided to pay a visit to ol' Dinky, here." One of his arms raises and gestures at the T-Rex. "It'd been a while since I'd seen 'im. You here to sightsee, too?"

"No," she says, "I'm still looking for the guy in the checkered jacket."

"Oh, I see," he says. "Well, I'll be on my way to New Vegas here in a bit. If fortune has it, maybe we'll run into each other up there."

"Yeah, maybe."

"So long, partner," he says with a little wave of his arm. 

"So long, Victor. Safe travels."

"Same to you." The Securitron rolls away, then, heading north. 

She watches him for a minute before looking at ED-E. It doesn't have any input on her exchange. 

Thoroughly weirded out, she continues on to Dinky the T-Rex, skirting around the large tail and passing a few bungalows on her left. Up a short set of stairs, there is a door set into the dinosaur's side. She climbs it and enters into a gift shop. She finds herself stifling a laugh–for the sake of the man sitting on a stool behind the counter. Of all things, _a gift shop_.

"Hey, there," the man says. "New to Novac?"

"Just passing through," she replies, throwing a glance around the shop. Pre-War trinkets line the shelves: toy cars, battered books, and a whole mess of Dinky the Dino toys. "Thought I'd take a look at the dinosaur."

"Pleased by what you found?"

"Yeah, actually." 

He laughs. "Well, welcome to the Dino Bite Gift Shop–and, well, Novac, too."

"Thanks." She picks up one of the Dinky toys to take a closer look. "By any chance, have you seen a guy in a checkered jacket pass through here?"

"Can't say I have, ma'am," he says. "Maybe talk to one of our snipers. They camp out in Dinky's mouth. Manny from dawn 'til dusk, and Boone from dusk 'til dawn." He points to his right, where there are some stairs. "Take those stairs, and you'll come out into Dinky's mouth."

Courier chuckles, puts down the Dinky toy where she got it, and starts for the stairs. Looking at ED-E, she says, "You should probably stay here." She pulls open the door at the top and steps back out into the night. 

She's met with a man's back. He wears a dingy white T-shirt, khaki cargo pants, and a red beret. He whirls around, a sniper rifle lifted before him. She jumps–but her eyes immediately go to the NCR emblem on the front of his beret. She recognizes the symbol: First Recon, the fabled elite unit of NCR sharpshooters.

"God dammit! Don't sneak up on me like that," he snaps, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, even though the sun is already below the horizon. 

"Expecting visitors?" she asks, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her chest. 

"Yeah," he says, his hand going to his throat as if to calm his own heartbeat. "I guess maybe I am. But not like you." He pauses, dropping his hand back to hold his rifle, and she can only guess he's giving her a once-over. "Why are you up here?"

"I just wanted to check out the view," she jokes.

He's apparently not the joking kind, for he says, "You should leave."

"Hey, I'm just trying to be friendly, my guy."

"I don't have friends here."

His clipped way of speaking sets her jaw on edge. "Good thing I'm not from around here, huh?"

"Hm. Maybe you shouldn't go just yet."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"I need someone I can trust. You're a stranger. That's a start."

"You only trust strangers? That's kinda fucked up, don't ya think?"

He ignores that. "I need someone to find something out for me. Now, I don't know if there's anything to find, but I need someone to try." He pauses. "My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They knew when to come and what route to take–and they only took Carla. Someone set it up. I don't know who. That's where you come in."

As he spoke, Courier felt her heart sink heavily into her stomach. "So, you just want to track down Carla?"

"She's dead. I want the son of a bitch who sold her." 

Courier swallows hard and nods sharply as a way of agreeing to help. "What do I do when I find them?"

"Bring them out in front of the nest while I'm on duty. I work nights." He removes his beret, revealing dark, cropped hair. "Put this on when you get out there with whoever it is. It'll be our signal. I'll take care of the rest."

Courier accepts the beret and the psychological weight that comes with it. She folds it carefully and tucks it into the pocket of her jeans. "I'll see what I can find."

"Good. One more thing: We shouldn't speak until this is over. No one in town knows that I know what happened to her. Best they never know, or the Legion'll be after me next. And I'm not really in the mood for that." He makes to turn his back on her. 

"Wait, wait. Before I go, I just had a quick question."

He doesn't say anything, so she assumes it's fine to ask.

"Have you seen a man in a checkered jacket come through?"

"No. Talk to Manny about that. And, talk to me when you've found out what you can. Bye." He turns back around to stare out of the dinosaur's mouth.

"Ah. Well, alright. See ya." She leaves, collecting ED-E on the way out and wishing the sales clerk a good night.

When she gets back into the night _once again_ , she becomes aware of the soreness of her legs. That's what walking all day, every day does to a person. On stiff legs, she heads for the motel's check-in office. 

As she reaches for the door, it opens, and she takes a quick step back. 

An old, bespectacled woman gasps, then laughs. "Goodness, dear, you frightened the daylight outta me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Courier says. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, it's alright. Things like this keep an old lady spry." She looks at ED-E, then looks back to Courier. "Was there something you needed?"

"I was hoping to rent a room, actually," she says. "But, if it's too late–"

"Not at all. Come on in." She holds the door open for Courier and ED-E, and then goes in herself to move around the check-in desk, upon which sits a ledger, a pencil cup that holds a few pens, and a weathered desk lamp. "I'm Jeannie May Crawford, by the way. What's your name, sweetie?"

"Courier Six."

Jeannie May looks up, a question in her eyes. Instead of asking about it, she just writes that down in her ledger. "It'll be twenty caps a night."

Courier fishes out the price and hands them over. "Hey, um, before I turn in, I got a question." She wants to hit herself for how fucking inquisitive she's been the past few days, but she figures the best place to start her investigation is here, with the woman who seems to be one of the most important people in town.

"What is it?"

"I just had a chat with Boone. Y'know. Sniper guy up in Dinky's mouth."

"Yeah, I know Boone," Jeannie May chuckles. "What'd y'all talk about?"

"His wife. You don't know anything about her, do you?"

"Ah, no. Such a shame. She was so young. She deserved so much better." If Courier isn't mistaken, a muscle in the woman's wrinkled cheek twitches. 

Courier stares at the older woman for a moment, then says, "Yeah, a tragedy. I was just curious."

"Morbid curiosity you got there," Jeannie May says with a half-smile. 

Courier gives a convincing smile and a shrug, but her eyes–she knows her eyes are cold, hard, and calculating. She hopes Jeannie May sees it. Kind of hopes it scares her a little.

If she's scared, though, she doesn't show it. The only thing she shows is Courier her room, outside, on the second floor. "Have a good night, hon."

"Thanks. You, too." She locks herself and ED-E into the room and peers outside through the sliver of a gap in the drapes. Jeannie May heads back down the stairs and disappears out of sight. 

Courier decides to investigate the office in a few hours, when she's sure Jeannie May is asleep.

* * *

Cursing at the broken bobby pin, Courier throws the two halves of it over her shoulder and searches for another one in her satchel, while ED-E acts as a lookout behind her. She feels the telltale coolness of a thin piece of metal. "Thank God," she whispers, and goes to work, applying gentle pressure with the screwdriver that she just now realizes she stole from Johnson back in Primm. _Oops_.

The door suddenly clicks and opens inward. Courier scuttles into the office, leaving ED-E outside and closing the door behind her. Still on her hands and knees, she crawls around the desk. There's a safe set into the floor, and she feels her eyes go wide. There's got to be something in there.

She coerces the lock open with her bobby pin and screwdriver. This lock is much easier to crack, and it opens after only a minute of sweet-talking it. 

Inside, she finds a sheet of paper and at least three hundred caps. She goes for the paper first, the words _BILL OF SALE_ standing out at her. Skimming it, she reads: _Purchased from Jeannie May Crawford.. the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone for the sum of one thousand bottle caps, and those of her unborn child for the sum of five hundred bottle caps..._

A surge of bile rises up Courier's throat, burning it. She swallows compulsively, throwing the paper _and_ the caps into her bag. The old hag deserves being burglarized for what she's done. 

She closes the safe and leaves, making sure the door is locked behind her. 

Tomorrow night, Jeannie May Crawford is fucking dead.

In the morning, though, she goes to talk to Manny, the day-shift sniper. 

He's a little nicer than Boone, letting her know that he _did_ see the fucko in the checkered jacket and that the checkered jacket fucko was heading north, toward Boulder City. 

At this news, Courier feels her lips curl in, setting into a firm line. 

Fuck's sake. She could've just gone straight there from Goodsprings and saved herself at least a week. 

Whatever. As the saying goes, what's done is done. She goes down to the gift shop, impulsively purchases a Dinky toy with the caps she took from Jeannie May, and heads back to her room. 

Having nothing else to do, she takes a nap. When it gets close to Boone's scheduled shift, she sets up a chair by the window and keeps an eye out for him so she knows when to lure out Jeannie May. 

She sees him walk across the parking lot to Dinky, and he disappears inside. She instructs ED-E to stay put and then heads down to the office. 

Jeannie May is just about to head out for the night when Courier catches her. 

"Jeannie May!" Courier exclaims, her hand holding the office door open. She tries her hardest to appear distressed–though she's not entirely sure the woman has a compassionate bone in her body after learning she sold Boone's wife to the goddamn Legion. "There's something out in front of Dinky I think you need to see!"

"Goodness, child. What is it?" Jeannie May inquires, startled. 

"You've just got to see it for yourself. Please!"

Since the woman has no reason not to trust Courier, she follows as Courier jogs around front of Dinky. Once Jeannie May joins her, Courier makes sure she's a safe distance away from the inevitable blood spatter, pulls on the beret, and holds her breath.

Jeannie May looks around, then "What was it you wanted to–?"

A rifle goes off, and Jeannie May's head explodes. 

Courier exhales loudly through her mouth and looks up at Boone in the sniper's nest. He beckons for her to come up, so she does. 

Standing across from him, she feels her stomach twist with dread at what she's about to show him. Mainly because she doesn't know how he'll react. 

"That's it, then," he says as she hands him back his beret. He fits it back over his head. "How'd you know?"

"I, uh, found this." She also hands him the bill of sale. 

Boone takes it and looks down at it for at least a full minute. His expression doesn't change in the slightest. When he looks back up at her, he says, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clinking pouch. "This is all I can give you."

The man just found out who sold his wife and unborn child, and he's trying to _pay_ her? Decency tells her to say, "I can't take your money."

"Why?"

"I just... It doesn't feel right, my guy. Keep it."

"I insist."

"Seriously, man, keep it."

They stare at each other. Courier isn't sure how long it lasts, but she's the one to break the silence. 

Keeping her eyes on the lenses of his glasses, she asks, "What will you do now?"

"I don't know, but I know I won't stay here. Don't see much point in anything right now, except hunting Legionnaires."

An idea strikes her, causing a slow grin to spread across her face. "Come with me, then. Let's murder the Legion, one fucko at a time."

He shakes his head. "You don't want me to come with you."

"I thought snipers worked in teams."

"This isn't gonna end well."

"We'll see about that." She holds out her hand to him. "I'm Courier Six."

He looks down at her hand, then back up at her face. "Weird name."

She keeps her hand outstretched and steady. "Yeah, I got shot in the head, so I kinda got a do-over on that part of myself. It might change, though, but I'll let you know if it does."

"Shot in the–?" He hesitates. "The guy in the checkered jacket?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna blow his brains out and see how _he_ likes it."

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn't smile. His right hand, warm and calloused, wraps around hers. "Craig Boone. It's been alright to meet you."

Courier's fingers squeezes his as they shake, her grin holding steadfast. "Likewise."


	4. Chapter 4

Courier and ED-E wait for Boone outside his room in the motel. She leans against the wall, scraping the flat end of the screwdriver under her fingernails, while ED-E hovers in front of her, its faceplate facing Dinky. 

Gloves rise past a baseball bat and finding the fucko to take the number-one spot on her list of priorities. 

Boone comes out of his room, a knapsack slung over his shoulders and his rifle slung over the knapsack. 

Courier pushes away from the wall, asking, "Ready to go?"

"Yeah" is his reply. 

With that, they start for Boulder City.

Courier soon finds out that Boone's way of speaking when she first met him was actually long-winded and eloquent compared to what she's experiencing now. 

They travel silently north, passing a scrapyard on their left. Mutts patrol the area, so they make sure to keep their distance. 

"You think anybody lives in there?" Courier asks, looking up at Boone, who marches alongside her. 

"Probably."

She blinks at him, expecting _something_ else–and getting disappointment. "So, I've been dying to ask: What's with the First Recon beret?" 

Without looking at her, he says, "It's a First Recon beret. What's there to be confused about?"

"Yes, the fact that it's First Recon has been established," she says, a twinge of annoyance in her tone. " _Why_ do you _have_ one?"

"Only NCR soldiers in First Recon get one of these First Recon berets."

He's speaking to her like she's a child, and she does not care for it. Maybe bringing him along wasn't the best idea. "Explains the sniper rifle, but not how you ended up in Novac."

He doesn't respond. 

Courier's hands clench into fists at her sides. She doesn't hit him, though; judging by the size of his biceps–and the way his T-shirt sometimes outlines his abdominal muscles _just right_ –she doubts she could take him in a fight.

"I guess we'll talk about that later," Courier mutters, forcing her fingers to uncurl. 

"We'll see," he says. 

_Don't push him._ But, God, does she want to.

* * *

When the sun comes up over the horizon, they decide to set up camp in an old fuel station. They clear out a few feral ghouls prowling around outside before prying open the rusted door. 

Courier moves in first, all too aware that she only has one bullet left in her pistol. Boone is right behind her, rifle lifted. A couple of radroaches crawl aggressively toward them, hissing. Courier kicks one, sending it sailing across the room and smacking against the wall. When it lands on the cracked tile floor, it doesn't move. As that happens, Boone delivers a round into the other one. 

"Can't wait to see you in an actual fight. Like, against people," Courier comments, folding her sunglasses and letting one arm hang inside the collar of her T-shirt. She begins poking around in a few storage containers against the wall. "Always wanted to see a First Recon soldier in action."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that," he replies, kneeling in the middle of the room to dig around in his knapsack. He pulls out a bottle of water. 

"How naïve of you," Courier laughs, pulling a box of Sugar Bombs out of one container. She tosses it toward Boone, aiming it so it slides across the floor until it bumps into his boot. 

Boone turns to look at her, but the sunglasses guard his eyes. She never realized how much a person's eyes can give away. "Maybe I'm an optimist."

Courier scoffs, sitting down cross-legged against the containers. "And, I'm the Queen of the Mojave."

Another twitch of the mouth, but he doesn't indulge himself with a smile. She wouldn't expect him to. 

"How long are we staying here?" he inquires, twisting open his bottle. 

"Enough for a long nap," she says. "Maybe four hours, tops?" 

After downing a sip of water, he says, "I'll take first watch."

"No need. ED-E'll watch out for us. Ain't that right, ED-E?"

An affirmative beep says, _Yes_. 

Boone looks at the eyebot, then back to Courier. "You sure about that?"

" _I'm_ sure. But, if you're not, you can stay up." She gives a one-shoulders shrug. "No skin off my nose."

He stares at her until she shifts uncomfortably, which takes quite a long time. "If I end up dead, I'm blaming you."

Courier smiles, leaning over to lie down on her side, her back pressed against one of the containers. "If you end up dead, I'll be surprised."

Boone scoffs, which she's almost sure is his version of a laugh.

* * *

When she wakes up, Courier automatically checks the time on her Pip-Boy. It's almost noon. She's been asleep for just a little over four hours. 

Looking up, she spots ED-E. It faces the door, on the lookout for intruders.

Looking straight ahead, she finds Boone, lying on his side across the room, his arm acting as a pillow, his back to the wall. His torso rises and falls, slowly and evenly. He still has his damn sunglasses on. 

"Boone," she says, pushing herself upright. 

He sits up immediately, his hand darting out to his rifle. He rolls onto his stomach and swings the rifle around to point it at her. 

Courier blanches, a spike of panic stabbing her in the gut. "Shit, man, _easy_."

It takes him a moment to realize what he's doing. He turns the barrel away from her. "Sorry."

"S'alright," she says, wanting to forget he just pointed a high-powered rifle at her. 

Boone clears his throat and pushes himself to his feet. "We should get going."

"You think we can make it there by nightfall?" she asks, also standing. She stretches and doesn't relax until something pops. 

"We might, if we move fast enough."

The three of them hit the road. 

After about an hour of silence between them, Courier gets bored of staring at the vast nothingness of the desert and says, "Let's play a game."

"Let's not," Boone says. 

"You don't even know what game I was going to suggest."

"Alright. What game?"

"Twenty Questions."

"No."

Courier hums while she thinks, then says, "I Spy?"

"Everything is the same color. How would we play that? 'I spy something a slightly darker tan than this other thing'? No, thank you."

Caught off-guard, she laughs. "Was that a joke?"

He doesn't respond. 

The smile slips off her face. 

"It's not funny anymore if you ask if it's a joke," he says. 

She rolls her eyes–and gets the breath knocked out of her by his forearm striking her chest. "What the hell–?"

"Look." Keeping his forearm against her, he uses his other hand to point at a little, beatdown house off to their left. Three people mill about outside. A gun goes off, inciting a few laughs. "Fiends."

"Looks like I'll get to see you in action after all," she says, stepping away from his arm. 

"No, we're going around them."

"What? Why? They probably have all kinds of chems."

"You use?" he asks, looking down at her. 

She shrugs. "If my life is depending on it, then yeah. I don't do it recreationally or anything."

"Oh." He looks back to the house. "I can pick them off from here."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, then. Let's see." She calls off ED-E before he can steal Boone's targets. 

Boone drops prone and pushes his sunglasses up over his beret. He looks into his scope–and takes the fiends out before any of them know what hit them. 

"Wow," Courier says as Boone gets to his feet and dusts himself off. 

"I wasn't First Recon for nothing," he says, and leads the way to the house. 

Courier loots the bodies while Boone keeps watch. She gasps suddenly, her eyes landing on what can only be a miracle, leaning upright against the wall. She picks it up and cradles it like a really long, awkward baby. 

"What is it?" Boone asks, alarm evident in his voice, as he comes around the corner of the house. When she doesn't reply, he says, "Six?"

An aluminum baseball bat. It has a few rusty spots, but it's still usable. She turns around and holds it up, beaming. 

"A... bat?"

"I have one bullet left in my gun, and I'm a shit shot. This is the fucking Holy Grail to me, Boone."

"Is that why you kicked that radroach?"

"Yes."

He snorts. "In that case, you should probably be thanking whatever you believe in that you found me."

She blinks at him. "Thank the Lord!" she yells, using both hands to raise the bat over her head. "I'm so grateful that I found a monotonous little fucko of a sniper! Thanks, Jesus!" She brings one of her hands down to kiss her fist, and then she finger-guns the sky. "You the man!"

During this display, Boone stares at her, hard-faced. She lowers the bat to press the end of it into the ground, leaning her palm against the knob. When she looks up at him with an eyebrow arched over her sunglasses, he says, "You done?"

"Yeah, I'm done." She swings the bat up to rest it against her shoulder. She raises her Pip-Boy to check their location on the map. Boulder City looks pretty close to where they are now. Maybe another hour of walking. "Let's keep going. We're almost there."

* * *

"Boulder City?" Courier eyes the junk fence around the bombed-to-hell town. "More like 'Boulder Shitty,' am I right?"

Boone doesn't seem to be paying attention to her, though; he only has eyes for the NCR soldiers posted outside the gate. Well, she _thinks_ that's what he's looking at. She can't really tell. 

They approach the gate, only for one of the soldiers to halt them with a raised hand. 

"You don't want to go in here," the soldier says. Her gaze keeps flicking between the white, X-shaped scar–for which Courier plans on thanking the asshole in the checkered jacket when she finds him–on the left side of Courier's forehead, ED-E, and Boone's beret, but she doesn't comment on the abnormal components of the triad. "Place is taken over by Khans."

"And?" Courier prompts. 

"And, what? They've taken a few of our team hostage. It's dangerous. Can't go in."

Courier holds back an eye-roll. Even _more_ none-of-her business she has to deal with. "Look, lady, I need to get in there. If I get killed, it'll be my own fault."

The soldier looks back at her partner, who gives a helpful shrug. She turns back, her mouth pressed into a hard line. "Just so we're all clear, the NCR is _not_ liable for whatever happens to you in there."

"Gotcha."

They enter Boulder Shitty–and Courier has the urge to turn right around and leave forever. The place is an honest-to-God shithole. Bombed-out buildings, trash and debris on the streets, the smell of death and shit. Courier adds a bandana–or anything to cover her mouth and nose, really–to her list of priorities. 

She looks at Boone, who turns his face to her in the same moment. "After you?"

Without a word, he starts forward, rifle up. Courier follows behind him, her bat cocked over her right shoulder. ED-E hovers along behind her. 

They do come across some Great Khans loitering against buildings and sharing Jet inhalers, but the men and women only give them curious looks as they move around rusted shells of cars and fallen lampposts. 

Courier isn't sure where to look for information, so she casually steps up to a couple of Khans sitting around a campfire. 

Boone tries to stop her by saying, "Six–"

"Hold on a second." She looks down at the Khans. "Hey."

They look up at her, then at each other, then back at her.

One of them says, "Hi..."

"You guys seen a guy in a checkered jacket?"

They share another look. The other says, "Might wanna talk to Jessup. He's over in the general store." She points at a mostly-intact building down the street.

"Jessup?" She can't help but think that's a stupid name. She'll make sure to make of him for that. "Thanks." Courier wastes no time in getting to the store. 

"Six, maybe we should talk about this first," Boone says, on her heels. 

"Talk about what?" she asks, keeping her eyes on the store. 

"What we're gonna do if he's the one you're looking for."

"I'll hit him with my bat and shoot him in the fucking head. That's what _I'm_ gonna do. You can just watch if you want." She grabs the door handle. 

"Six, wait–"

She throws open the door, earning three guns pointed at her face. She takes a moment to scope out the rest of the room, even as her heart slams up into her throat. Two NCR soldiers are on their knees in the corner, their hands behind their backs.

"Which one of you is Jessup?" she demands, looking back to the Khans. 

The Khan standing in the middle pipes up, but not with what she wants to know. "What the hell? You're that courier Benny wasted back in Goodsprings! You're supposed to be dead!"

She removes her sunglasses, looks at him, and says, "I got better."

"Fuck, fuck," he says, his hand shaking around his pistol as he lowers it. "I'm Jessup. What do you want?"

"The guy in the checkered jacket. His name is Benny?"

"Y-yeah."

"Where the fuck is he?"

"He went back to Vegas. The Tops Casino. He runs it."

Courier glances over her shoulder to gauge Boone's reaction and finds him standing right behind her, his aim steady on Jessup. She can't believe she might have thought the sniper would have any expression on his face besides the one that says, _I wake up on the wrong side of the bed every day_. 

"Wait."

She looks back at Jessup. 

He holds up a lighter. "Benny's. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him, will ya?"

"With pleasure." Courier grins, reaching out to accept the lighter. It's made of steel, with an engraving of a nude woman on the side. Classy. "By the way, you should probably let these NCR go. I heard them calling in for reinforcements. Might get messy, but I could convince them to let you go if you let _them_ go."

Jessup looks at the NCR soldiers, then at his two companions. "Let 'em loose. Ain't worth it."

The two Khans hurry to untie the NCR soldiers, who immediately head for the door, pushing past Boone and muttering their thanks. 

"Try to be nice when they throw your asses outta here, yeah?"

Jessup nods. "Thank you. Oh, and sorry about what happened with Benny. He's kinda an asshole."

"Kinda," Courier scoffs. She pushes past Boone next and listens for him to follow, which he does. 

"That was a risky lie," Boone says as they head back to the gate. "About the reinforcements."

"Yeah, it was," she admits, "but it worked."

"How are you going to convince the NCR to let them go?"

"Good question. I'll think of something when we get there."

"You have approximately one minute to figure it out."

"I'd appreciate some help."

"I'm sure you would."

She stops and turns to stare open-mouthed at him. His only response is to stare right back. 

"I thought were supposed to be a team," Courier says. 

Boone's lips purse the tiniest bit. "I guess."

"So, give me some ideas, man. I'm a little desperate." It's true. The NCR is likely to retaliate for the Khans' misbehavior, and she has no way to talk them out of it. 

"I could try to appeal to them," Boone offers. "Former First Recon and all."

Courier lets her breath out in a _whoosh_. "Thanks, my guy. I owe ya one."

They start walking again, and Boone says, "You definitely do."

Courier stands a distance away with ED-E at her side, watching as Boone converses lowly with the NCR soldiers guarding the gate. The woman keeps eyeing Courier like she's going to stab them all in the back, but Courier just brushes the looks off with a polite smile. 

Boone rejoins her after a few minutes of talk and says, "Let's find somewhere to sleep for tonight."

"Vegas isn't too far away," she says, following him northward. 

"Yes, it is. It's at least an eight-hour walk. And, that's without stopping. We'll start back up in the morning."

"Who made you boss?"

"ED-E practically begged me to take over while you were making an ass of yourself in front of those Khans."

Recognizing this as a joke, she doesn't want to ruin it, so she plays along by saying, "Fuck you, ED-E."

ED-E buzzes indignantly--and Boone chuckles. It's a low, short sound, and she's not sure she heard it at first. She aims a goofy smile at the sniper's back, hoping he can feel it on him.

* * *

"Sleeping out in the open isn't a good idea," Boone tells Courier as she drops her satchel into the dirt and flops down. 

Courier gestures broadly to their surroundings. "Shrubs on one side, billboard with a car underneath it on the other, and ED-E on the lookout. We'll be fine. I just want to see some stars."

Boone remains standing for a couple more minutes as Courier looks up at the sky, resting her head on her interlaced fingers, and waits for him to settle down. 

He does, setting his knapsack a short distance from her head and lying down to use it as a pillow. 

"Never would've pegged you for a stargazer," she says without looking at him. 

"I was going to say the same about you."

Courier snorts and sits up. "I forgot to eat," she remembers aloud. 

"Shit." Boone sits up. "Me, too."

She pushes open the flap of her satchel and pulls out a can of Cram. "You have stuff to eat, right? Because I don't have much to share."

"I have some things." He roots through his knapsack and pulls out his own can of Cram and a pocketknife. He jabs the knife into the top of the can and pries open the lid. 

"Hey, share the wealth, my man," she says, holding her hand out for the knife. 

He lets her use it, but only to open her can, because he ends up using the blade as a spoon. 

Courier searches her bag for something to use as a utensil and comes up short. The only thing close would be her screwdriver, and she's really not sure which is dirtier: the screwdriver or her hands. 

Noticing her dilemma, Boone says, "I have an extra blade, if you want to use it."

Courier glances down at the switchblade in his hand and takes it. "Thanks."

"I guess you owe me two now."

"Okay." She turns the blade and offers him the handle. "If that's the case, take back the knife and all the conditions it comes with."

"I'm joking."

"Oh." Courier chuckles, jabbing the top of her can with the blade. "It's hard to tell with you."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

They eat in silence for a while, Courier's eyes cast to the sky, Boone's cast to his dinner. When they finish, they lie back down and wish each other a good rest.


	5. Chapter 5

Courier wakes to gunfire. 

She bolts upright with a gasp and finds that Boone is already on his feet, crouching, with his eye up to the scope of his rifle. 

"Stay down," he orders without looking at her. "Looks like some fiends shooting at each other down the road. If we're lucky, they'll stay over there and kill each other."

Courier ignores his order and crawls over to kneel beside him. She peers over the shrubs, but they're too far away to make out any details. She just sees a bunch of frantic dots. "I can't see anything." 

"Good. It's a fucking bloodbath."

"Okay, now I _want_ to see."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, pass it here."

Boone seems reluctant to pass her his rifle, but he does anyway. She looks through the scope. 

The scrap is happening maybe a mile away. Bodies litter the blood-soaked ground. There are still three fiends standing, and it seems as if two of them are against the one. The one seems to just notice exactly how much death is around him and throws down his gun in surrender. One of the two executes him anyway. 

"Jesus fuck," Courier says, passing the gun back to Boone. "Can you take them out from here?"

"Yep." He hefts the rifle once more, checks his rounds, and puts down the last two before they even know what hit them. 

"Honestly? I _am_ glad that I found you."

"I knew that already." Boone rises fully upright and steps out from behind the shrubs. 

Courier follows suit. "You know what? Never mind."

"Never mind?"

"Yeah, your services are no longer needed. You can go back to Novac."

"There are not enough caps in the world to make me go back there."

Courier looks up at him curiously. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's keep going." 

Freeside is their next stop. The sun is high in the sky when they catch sight of multicolored pieces of wood nailed together in a fan shape over a solid metal gate. Courier doesn't remember her own name, but she definitely remembers this place. 

Her blood starts pumping a little quicker, knowing that the fucko– _God, his name is Benny. What the hell kind of name is that for a would-be murderer?_ –is likely somewhere on the Strip. 

A trio of guys in black leather jackets stand to the side of the gate, smoking cigarettes. On the backs of their jackets are identical white crown graphics with _The Kings_ written within the confines of the crowns. When Courier and her companions draw near, they all look–and then do a double-take. She hears one of them whisper, "Ain't that Pacer's girl?"

Courier feels a scowl set in on her face. "Excuse me. You got something to say to me?"

They look scandalized. One says, "No, ma'am."

She rolls her eyes and pushes open the gate to Freeside. 

"Maybe we should find this 'Pacer,'" Boone says from behind her as they walk the ruined streets. 

"Benny first."

A hand closes around her wrist and pulls her around to face him.

She yanks her hand back. "What the hell do you think you're doing, putting your hands on me like that? Don't fuckin' touch me like that."

No reaction. Only him saying: "What's your problem?"

"Do that again, and I'll smash your fucking head in," she snaps before turning back around and continuing on.

He follows her. "Sorry."

Now, she's the one who doesn't respond. Being grabbed like that doesn't sit right with her, but she tries to clear her mind of it as she marches on. 

A few kids run around the street, chasing a giant rat that seems to be teasing them. The sight makes her purse her lips, and she pulls the pistol from her holster. She holds it with both hands and aims as Boone says, "Six, what are you doing?" Ignoring him, she pulls the trigger. The rat goes down, tripping over its own feet. 

"Thanks, lady!" one of the children, a little boy with fair hair, says as he and his friends run at the rat. 

"You're welcome," Courier says, watching them as they begin hacking away at the carcass with pocketknives. 

A young girl–couldn't be older than twelve–comes up to her and asks, "How much do we owe you?"

Taken aback by both the girl's question and her uncanny shot, Courier stammers, "Wh-what?"

"For killing the rat for us. How much?"

"Oh, uh, free of charge, kid. Don't worry about it."

"Bug! Bug, c'mon!" one of the other kids call from where they're beginning to start a fire right there in the street, using old books as kindling. 

The girl glances at them, then back to Courier. "Well, looks like they need me over there. Thanks again."

"No problem," Courier says, and watches the girl–Bug, they called her–go. 

"That was a good shot," Boone says. 

"Thanks. It'll never happen again." Courier starts moving again. 

Up ahead, yellow neon labels a building a school of impersonation. A blue neon guitar with pink lettering says that it belongs to "The King." Outside, a few more guys in leather jackets loiter around the entrance. Just like outside Freeside, they take one look at her and start whispering amongst themselves. Again, she hears the name Pacer.

Courier can't let this one slide, though. Boone clears his throat in protest, but she ignores him again and stalks up to the guys by the door. 

"Alright. Who the hell is Pacer?" she demands, her hands fisted on her hips.

The guys exchange nervous glances. 

"Um," one of them says with a meek smile, "don't ya remember us?"

Courier blinks. "No. Should I?"

They look at each other again, now confused. 

The same one says, "You might wanna talk to Pacer. He's inside, in the dining room. Should be with the King."

Courier remembers the King. Just the name, though. She can't conjure a face to go with it. 

Without looking at Boone or ED-E, she barges into the building. She makes a beeline to the left after having immediately spotted a stage and a bunch of tables and chairs through a threshold. 

One leather-jacketed man stands on the stage, singing along to the radio. The tables are empty, save for the man she believes is the King himself–set apart from the others by the glittering gold jacket he wears–and yet another guy in a leather jacket. At their feet sits a cyberdog, which gives Courier a hitch in her step but ultimately does not stop her from approaching them. 

The man sitting with the King stands up once her presence becomes known–and his jaw drops. "Jordan?

Courier freezes. 

That's it. That's her name. She remembers that now. 

"Oh, my God." He comes around the table and throws his arms around her neck. "Baby, I'm so glad to see you. I was worried _sick_."

Courier is beyond confused, beyond bewildered. She can't speak. She can only be held for a long minute before he pulls back to hold her at arm's length.

"Where have you been?" the man asks, his face red as if he's holding back tears. 

"Uh..." Courier glances to the side, where Boone waits with ED-E, his arms crossed over his stomach. Boone offers no help. She looks back to the man holding her shoulders. "Long story short: I got a bullet to the head, and I couldn't really remember anything about, like, myself. Who I was, my name, nothin'. So... I'm guessing I know you."

"Are you serious?"

She nods. 

"Fuckin' hell. I'm Pacer, and you're my best gal. You really don't remember that?"

She shakes her head, her stomach turning at the idea of being _anyone's_ "best gal," since that implies she's not the _only_ gal. 

"Jesus Christ," he says, and pulls her in for another hug. 

This time, she resists. "Sorry, but... I don't know you, my guy."

He ignores her protests and pulls her close. "Don't know me? Trust me, baby. We know each other _very_ well."

"Pacer," the King finally says without looking up at them, "don't touch the lady if she doesn't want to be touched. Shouldn't have to say that in the first place. Don't make me tell you again."

Pacer lets go of Courier and takes a step back. "Sorry, Jordan. I just... I missed you so much. You were supposed to be back a week ago. We had no idea where you were–didn't even know if you were _alive_..." He takes in a deep breath, running a hand down his face. "Let's talk some more outside."

"No, thanks. I mean, unless we're bothering you, sir," Courier says, aiming the last sentence at the King. 

"You never bother me, Miss Shesco," the King replies, turning a blinding-white smile to her. 

Her last name. That's right. _Shesco_. She tries not to let that information or his smile stagger her, but they both do. 

She is not Courier Six. She is Jordan Shesco, the sixth courier out of six. 

Still, Pacer gestures to the threshold she passed through, and she walks out to the empty lobby on uncertain legs, with him, Boone, and ED-E right behind her. 

In the lobby, Courier nods for Boone to return outside, which he does without question. She turns to Pacer and crosses her arms. "So, what? We were together?"

"Were?" Pacer frowns, pushing a hand through his black hair. "I... I guess we _were_."

"And, what? You still want to be together, even though I have no idea who you are?"

"Well, yeah, baby. We were together almost a year."

Courier stares at him, wondering who the hell she was before to want to be with this joker. "Well... I don't want to hurt your feelings"–she really couldn't care less about his feelings, but she feels like she might be able to rack up some good karma by letting him down easy–"but I... I'd feel more comfortable if we weren't, y'know... together."

Pacer does not seem to understand what she's trying to say. "Don't be silly, Jordan. We had somethin' good goin' on between us. You really wanna ruin that?"

Courier's patience runs thin. "I can't fucking _remember_ what we had, my guy."

"That don't mean I don't still got feelings for you, baby."

She feels sick at the pet name. "Then, maybe we can start over." After a beat, she adds, "As friends," so there's no confusion. 

A flash of anger passes over his face. It's gone within the span of a second, and then he smiles. "'Course, baby–I mean, Jordan."

Courier doesn't like him. Not one bit. Must be a good lay, though, if she stayed with him for a year. "Uh, thanks. Anyway, um, I gotta head to the Strip, so... maybe I'll see you later."

"The Strip? Doin' a li'l gamblin'?"

Gambling with her life, maybe. "I guess you could say that."

"Nice. I'll come with."

"Oh, no, that's okay. I'll just see you later."

"C'mon," he says. "It'll be fun. I'll show ya the kind'a guy I am, and you'll fall in love with me all over again. Lemme just go tell the King I'm leavin'. I'll be right back." Before she can say anything, he trots back into the dining room. 

Courier wants to run out the door and never come back. Or, explode. She tries to calculate the odds of him finding her, but Pacer returns just a few moments into her nonsensical equations. 

"Oh, before I forget, you got two thousand caps on ya, right?" he asks as she turns to the exit. 

"What the hell do I need two grand for?" she demands. 

"Kinda like insurance. To get onto the Strip. You got it, right?"

She blinks at him, then blinks at the wall over his shoulder. She has about three-fifty. She doesn't know how much Boone has. "Shit."

"Go talk to the King. He might front you some."

"Hell." She stalks past Pacer to the dining room, aiming for the King. "Excuse me."

He looks up at her, the side of his mouth drawing up into a half-smile. "What can I do for you?"

"This is embarrassing," she says, "but I need two grand to get onto the Strip, and Pacer said you might let me borrow it from you."

The King's eyebrow lifts. "Did he, now? Well, I'll just have to have yet _another_ talk with our good friend Pacer." He takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. "I can get someone to make you a forged passport to get onto the Strip if you do me a few favors."

"God, thank you. What do you need done?"

He gestures for her to take a seat, which she does, choosing the seat to his left. "First things first: There's a bodyguard for hire at Freeside's north gate. His name is Orris. I got some people tellin' me he's a little suspicious. I want you to hire him–I'll give you some caps for that–and investigate. Does that sound like something you're interested in?"

Courier nods eagerly. "Sure is."

The King reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pouch of caps. "That's two hundred, enough to hire him. Come back when you've found something out, alright?"

She nods again. "I'll check it out now."

He smiles at her. "Thank ya, ma'am."

She can't help but smile back.

* * *

As they head to the north entrance to Freeside, Pacer stupidly tries to hold her hand. He ends up with his back slammed to a wall, Courier's switchblade to his throat. 

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Courier hisses in his face. "I told you we'd start over. _That_ doesn't seem like starting over to me."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against her blade. "Jeez, I'm sorry. I thought I was takin' it slow, like you said. Won't happen again. Promise."

Courier backs up, tucking the closed blade into her pocket. If she's not mistaken, she hears Boone scoff. Strangely satisfied by his reaction, she turns away and keeps going. 

They find Orris at the gate, standing between a member of the Kings and a grimy-looking wastelander. Orris is a big man, clad from the neck down in metal armor. 

Putting on a show, Courier whistles lowly at the sight of him. "You for hire, my guy?"

He raises a bushy eyebrow at her. "Bodyguard'ing only."

"How much?"

"Two hundred caps'll get you from here to the Strip's gate and a tour along the way."

"Sounds good." She throws him the pouch. 

"You misunderstand," Orris says. "Two hundred per person."

Courier nods easily and waves off her companions. "I'll see you guys later."

"Six, wh–?" Boone starts. 

She cuts him off with a look. "Later, Boone. I'll meet you back at the King's."

No more argument. Boone nods once. 

Pacer steps forward, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I got two hundred, man."

"Pacer, go with Boone," Courier orders. "I'll see you guys soon."

Pacer frowns at her. "Baby, I don't wanna leave you alone with–"

"I'll be fine," she just about snaps. "Just go. Seriously."

With a huff, Pacer follows Boone and ED-E toward the King's School. 

Courier turns back to Orris. "Lead the way."

Orris gives her the tour of town. They first pass by the Old Mormon Fort, where the Followers of the Apocalypse have set up a clinic for the residents of Freeside. Next is the King's School of Impersonation, which Boone, Pacer, and ED-E are just entering. 

Boone looks over his shoulder at her but doesn't say anything. 

Orris shows her the Atomic Wrangler casino, and then the Silver Rush, where you can buy just about any type of weapon or ammunition. Courier has to remember to go there and check it out. Though she's more talented at melee combat, it would be stupid of her to walk around the Mojave without anything ranged. 

Just as they're about to head to the Strip's gate, Orris holds out a hand to halt her. "Hear that? Sounds like trouble." He bolts off down a side street. 

She didn't hear anything. She follows anyway. 

Orris fires his gun three times by the time Courier reaches him. Precisely four thugs lie dead further down the street. 

"Did you catch the show?" Orris asks when he sees her lurking behind him. 

"No, but I got a question: You fired three times, but there's four bodies?"

"I aimed a shot that killed two with one bullet."

Courier folds her arms over her chest. "Or, you're lying."

"Maybe keep that theory to yourself."

"I definitely won't."

"How much?" he growls. 

"How much ya got?"

"Three-fifty."

"That'll do."

Orris forks over the caps before escorting her to the Strip's gate and leaving her. 

Once he's out of sight, she goes right back to the King, who is sharing a drink with Boone and Pacer. 

"Miss Shesco," the King says, "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."

Courier slaps the bag of caps on the table and says, "The moron staged a shootout in the street. Three shots, four bodies. Claimed he killed two with one bullet."

The King's brow furrows. "Well, ain't that interesting? He'll be pulled off the streets when no one's looking, I can tell ya that. Why don't you have a seat, Miss Shesco? Have a drink with us."

Courier takes the only available seat, which is right across from him. 

He pours a few mouthfuls of bourbon into a tumbler and pushes it across the table. "I was just telling Mr. Boone that we've been having a bit of violence from the NCR toward my people. You wouldn't mind doing me another favor involving that, would you?"

"Not at all," Courier says. 

"I'd like you to talk to a few of my friends down at the Old Mormon Fort. They just suffered a recent attack, and I'd like you to question 'em about it. See if you can find out who attacked 'em. If that isn't too much trouble, of course."

"Sounds easy enough." Courier makes to stand, but the King reaches across the table to put a hand on her arm. 

"It's gettin' a bit late. Head out in the morning."

"We don't have a place to stay overnight," Boone says. 

The King laughs. "Heavens, I won't put you out. Stay here. We have a couple of extra rooms. Pacer, could you show Mr. Boone to one of them? I have a few more details to discuss with Miss Shesco."

Pacer nods. "Yes, sir, right away." 

Courier looks up at Boone as he stands, and he looks back. They don't say anything, though. 

Once they're gone, leaving Courier and ED-E with the King and Rex, the King takes a sip of his bourbon. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're alright."

"We know each other, don't we."

"Yes, we do. Quite well, in fact."

"Oh, Jesus. Me and Pacer, but also me and..." She raises her eyebrows, hoping he'll catch the gist. 

"You and Pacer did have a thing," the King says, leaning ever so slightly closer to her, "but so did you and me."

Somehow, Courier isn't surprised. "Ah. Lucky you."

The King chuckles, reaching down to pat the plexiglass dome that holds Rex's brain. "Lucky me, indeed."

"You're not gonna be all clingy like Pacer, are you? I don't think I could handle it."

He shakes his head. "I'm not dumb quite like Pacer is. I have manners, so I won't fuss at ya for not remembering what we had. But, if you'd like to spend the night in my very large, very comfortable bed... Well, you'd get no objections from me."

Courier can't help it; she slowly looks him over. He's very handsome, with strong features and black hair slicked back into a pompadour. When her gaze meets his again, she says, "On one condition."

"And, that is...?"

"Call me Six, yeah?"

The King seems a little surprised by this, but he smiles warmly and says, "Anything for you, Six."


	6. Chapter 6

Courier had her first sexual encounter as her new self with the King in his giant, heart-shaped bed. She can't say she regrets it, because it would be a bold-faced lie. The King is a generous partner, and she received more than she gave. She worried for a moment that he might spoil her for anyone else–but then he ducked back underneath the covers, and she forgot all about it.

She got in a few hours of sleep before she had to go rouse Boone from his slumber in his room down the hall. 

"Had a good night?" he asks as they head to the Old Mormon Fort. 

"Yeah, actually," Courier says through a yawn. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I've slept better."

"Shame." Courier pushes open the gate to the Fort. 

The inside is... nice-ish. They run into a low semi-circular wall of sandbags with an empty chair and table nestled in the curve. White tents line the walls, and that's really all there is. The center is an empty dirt patch. 

Courier looks around, only finding a tall, blond, bespectacled man in a white doctor's coat moving from one tent to the next. "'Scuse me!" she calls out, jogging toward him. 

The man turns a scowl to her. "Excuse you. People are trying to sleep."

"Oh. Sorry." She holds out her hand. "I'm Courier Six."

He glances down at her hand before he shakes it. "Dr. Arcade Gannon. Though, if you're looking for medical attention, try one of the other doctors. I'm just a researcher. Not even a particularly good one."

Courier's curiosity gets the best of her once again. "Why do you do research instead of, like, doctor stuff?"

"One _could_ argue that research would be considered 'doctor stuff,' but to answer your question: I'm not good with people."

"Oh, you'll have a lot in common with Boone, then. He's horrible with people." Courier turns to Boone. "Boone, meet the good doctor, Arcade."

Boone only nods once. Arcade returns with a nod of his own.

"So, what kind of research do you do?" Courier inquires, still very curious.

"Oh, you know. Finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it's quite noble in its aims."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"I'm enthusiastic about helping people, but _nihil novi sub sole_."

Courier takes an involuntary step back, reaching for her bat as Boone reaches for his rifle. "Isn't that the Legion's weird language?"

Arcade raises a pale eyebrow. "I didn't learn it from them, I assure you. Many people have spoken Latin. Some of them were quite pleasant. The Legion isn't part of that subset, though. Actually, it's unfortunate the language is associated with those gentlemen across the river."

She drops her hand. Boone doesn't drop his. 

"So, your work here seems pretty boring. Why don't you come with us?" She isn't sure where the idea came from. Now that it's out there, though, there's no taking it back. 

"No offense intended, but why would I go anywhere with you, your scary friend, and your... eyebot?" Arcade asks. 

"Things are bad around here. I'm trying to make a difference, and I'd like you to help me. Gets pretty exciting out there, and I'm almost positive things'll get even more exciting within the next couple of days."

"Hm. Goodness knows I could use more excitement. But, do you have any sort of plan?"

"I'm gonna kill the guy who shot me in the head last week."

Arcade blinks at her. "A truly noble cause. I think I'd like to be around to see that."

Courier beams. "Good to have you onboard, Doc."

Arcade's eyes go back to ED-E. "Before we move on to why you're actually here, could I ask where you found the eyebot?"

"In Primm. Why?"

Arcade shrugs. "Something just doesn't seem right about it. I'm not saying we shouldn't take it with us, but I wouldn't shed a tear if it fell into Lake Mead."

"It's been pretty loyal so far. Saved my ass a few times, actually," Courier tells him. "But, if it ever turns on us, I give you explicit permission to destroy it. Sound good, my guy?"

"Sounds good to me. Now, the reason you're here?"

"I'm looking to question  
some of the King's friends. Could you tell me where they are?"

Arcade points at a tent to her right. "They're in there. Dr. Farkas checked on them a little while before you came cavorting in. She said they're doing alright, but please try your best to not rile them up."

"Gotcha." Courier heads to the tent with Arcade, Boone, and ED-E on her heels.

Two men lie on cots, one on each side of the tent.

"What do you want?" one of them asks in a hoarse voice.

I'm here 'cause the King asked me to ask you about the attack," Courier tells him. "So, what happened?"

He pushes himself up onto his elbows. "We'd been at the Atomic Wrangler all night. Gambling, drinking, whatever. When we left, we ended up on the bad side of town. Two big guys asked us if we were locals. I told him, 'Yeah. What's it to you?' and he threw me down in the dirt. I didn't see much after that. Ask Wayne." He jerks his head to the other side of the tent. 

Wayne sighs heavily. "One of the guy's was too well-dressed for Freeside. Threw me off. And, someone else said the name 'Lou Tenant.' Dunno who that is, but might be someone you wanna look into."

"They were saying 'lieutenant,' dummy," the other man says.

"Oh. Well, still."

"Lieutenant?" Courier turns to look at her companions. "NCR, maybe?"

They both shrug. 

Courier turns back. "Thanks for the info, guys. Get better soon, alright?"

"Yeah, thanks," Wayne says. "Tell the King we said thanks, too."

Courier and her cohorts go straight back to the King, and she relays what she found out, all while she gets detailed flashbacks of the night before that makes her face feel hot. The King is cool and collected as he listens, but his gaze burns into hers and makes her face feel like it's going to burst into flames.

And, Pacer is none the wiser.

"Holy shit, King," Pacer says right after she finished talking. "You think it's NCR?"

"Might well could be," the King says, leaning back in his seat. He takes a silver cigarette case and a matching lighter out of an inside pocket of his jacket and lights one of the cigarettes. "Anyone care for one? Mr. Gannon? Mr. Boone? Six?"

"I'll take one," Arcade says, holding his hand out for a cigarette and the lighter. "Thank you."

Boone just shakes his head.

"I don't smoke, but thanks," Courier says.

Pacer gives her a confused look. "You used to."

Courier's lips purse, but she won't look at him. "Funny how a bullet to the brain can change a person."

He shuts his mouth.

"So, anyway, was there anything else you needed me to take care of?" she asks, turning her attention back to the King.

"I think you've done enough, Six," the King says. "I thank you." He reaches into the other inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a crisp, white envelope. "Take this to Mick and Ralph. They'll make you a passport."

Courier takes the envelope, folds it right in half, and jams it into her pocket. "You're an angel. Thank you."

The King drops her a wink. "Better head off now so you can move on to the Strip quick as possible."

"Thank you, thank you. C'mon, guys. Let's go."

She, Arcade, and Boone stand. Unfortunately, so does Pacer. 

On the way to Mick & Ralph's, Courier does her best to shake Pacer off of her little group, but he holds steadfast, saying, "Listen, ba–Jord–Six. We'll go to the Atomic Wrangler and gamble a little. Maybe have a few drinks. Y'know. Have a good ol' time. I'll show ya the Pacer you loved."

Courier groans internally. 

At Mick & Ralph's, Courier hands over the note from the King. The duo sets to work immediately, telling her the passport will be done by tomorrow morning–which means she has to spend another day and night with Pacer breathing down her neck. 

Courier groans internally again, but she allows Pacer to lead them to the Atomic Wrangler. There, he exchanges two hundred caps for two hundred caps'-worth of chips. 

"Here ya go, baby," he says, handing her four five-cap chips. "Don't spend it all in one place."

Courier is now determined to win two thousand caps so she doesn't have to wait for the goddamn passport. 

Arcade heads for the slots, Pacer wanders off to the roulette table, and Boone and ED-E follow Courier to the blackjack table.

She takes a seat, places a five-cap bet, and the dealer deals her in. 

Boone stands behind her for a while, watching. After she's won a hundred caps on top of the twenty Pacer gave her, he leans down to say, "I'll be right back" before he goes back to the front room. She doesn't think twice about it–until he comes back and takes the seat to her right. 

He places a fifty-cap bet. 

She narrows her eyes at him. "What are you doing?"

"I need a way onto the Strip, too, you know," he replies.

"Oh. I guess I just assumed you had the caps, since you didn't mention that you needed help or anything."

"I never need help." 

Courier eyes him as the dealer deals out the cards. "Never?"

"Never."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"Huh. I'll be sure to remember that." 

 

At the end of their excursion, Courier sits on a pile of three thousand caps, Boone sits on four thousand, and Arcade announces that he already had the caps but made a nice five hundred on top of it. 

When they start for the gate to the Strip, Courier decides to give Pacer the slip so she can finally confront the checker-jacketed fucko in peace. 

"I thought you were going in the morning," Pacer says, eyebrows raised. 

"I just wanna take a quick look around. Why don't I meet you in your room back at the Kings'?" she says, dragging an index finger down his chest. She winks exaggeratedly, knowing how ridiculous she must look to Boone and Arcade.

A lopsided grin claims his mouth. "You remember where my room is, don't ya?"

"I'm sure I could–"

"It's on the–"

She shushes him with a finger on his lips and says, "I'll just follow my heart, baby."

His eyes fall halfway closed, and his grin turns goofy. 

"See you soon," she lies, and sashays to her waiting companions. She doesn't turn back to see if Pacer is still watching, but she figures he is. 

"Christ, what was _that_?" Arcade asks as they continue to the gate. 

"A way to get rid of the little creep," Courier says, heading the group. 

"What's to stop him from coming to find you?"

"As soon as this Benny guy is dead, I'm leaving Vegas."

"And going where?" Boone asks. 

Courier shrugs as they stride up the street to the gate. "I'll hole up in a cave somewhere and drink myself to the end of my days. Probably. Or, I might mosey on over across the river and take out the Legion singlehandedly. I'll just see how I'm feeling afterward."

"Is this a lost cause?" she hears Acrade whisper to Boone.

"I hope not," Boone replies, "but I'll be the first one to tail her if she goes after Caesar."

Courier smiles. 

The Securitrons–each of them sporting the same graphic of a stern policeman–go about making sure each of them has two thousand each. Courier grits her teeth as her group passes through the gate. She feels like gambling was a waste of time, but then realizes that she's a few grand richer, so she shouldn't be so annoyed. 

Courier shields her eyes from the sun with a hand and peers up at the buildings around her. "Either of you guys been to the Tops?' 

"I have. I'll show you," Arcade volunteers. 

They head toward another gate, passing between two casinos: a giant, needle-like structure on the left and a squat building with a provocative, flaming sign on the right. 

"Lucky Thirty-Eight," Arcade says, pointing at the taller casino. He gestures to the other one. "And, that one is the Gomorrah."

Courier's eye is drawn to the fiery sign, upon which there is a silhouette of a naked woman. The lighter in her pocket grows heavier, and she closes her hand around it. Nervousness prickles at the back of her neck. She has to remind herself that this has to be done, that this is almost over. 

Past the second gate, the Tops is hard to miss. They all pause and look up at the flashing lights that spell out the casino's name. 

"What's the plan, Six?" Boone asks, his face aimed at the entrance. 

Courier sets off at a stiff march. "Find Benny and rip him a new asshole."

At her side, Boone says, "Good plan."

"Could use a dash of refinement," Arcade quips. 

"Trust in Six. She hasn't failed me yet," Boone tells him, surprising Courier to the point of tripping on the curb. 

She repeats it internally, like a mantra–– _Trust in Six, trust in Six..._ ––and pulls open the door to the Tops.


	7. Chapter 7

Upon first setting foot inside the Tops, a man in a clean suit stops them and tells them to relinquish their weapons. 

Courier's head spins. Hand over her bat? Fat chance. How will she smash Benny's head in? Her fists? Actually, she kind of likes the thought of that. She gives him the bat and motions for her companions to do the same. She keeps her backup plan––the switchblade tucked into her boot––a secret. Just in case. 

Arcade has no qualms with the man's request and hands over his ten-millimeter pistol without a word. Boone makes a small, displeased sound in the back of his throat, but he unstraps his rifle and gives it to the man. 

As they make their way to the gambling floor, Boone leans down to mutter in Courier's ear, "You better know what you're doing."

She looks at him, her eyebrow raised. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do. But, I'm just asking you not to make me seem like a fool in front of Arcade."

"Trying to impress him?"

He scoffs. "Not my type."

"I can hear you, you know," Arcade says behind them. 

"No, you don't," Courier singsongs over her shoulder.

"That––Yes, I'm pretty sure I can."

The gambling space is crowded with people. Courier's eye is automatically drawn to the ugliest fucking jacket she has ever seen in her _life_ , its owner sitting at one of the blackjack tables.

Surprisingly, her feet keep her across the room from Benny. 

"What's the holdup? Isn't that him?" Boone asks. 

Courier stares at the side of Benny's face, her heart hammering in her chest. This was supposed to be easy: Walk up to him, say something cheesy–– _The game was rigged from the start, fucko_ ––and whack him over the head repeatedly with her bat. Maybe it's the goons surrounding him. Maybe it's because the room is packed with witnesses, and she wouldn't make it out of this place alive. Maybe it's the fact that he's not so bad-looking, and Courier has realized that she has a certain weakness to cute faces. 

"I'm n-not..." She trails off, stepping backward, right into a potted plant. She knocks it over, and the resulting crash silences the room for a moment. She freezes, her face hot, vision blurry with sudden, unexpected fear. But, the gamblers return to their activities, because they're not the ones that will have to answer for the broken pot. 

Boone's hand gently grips her elbow to steady her. "You alright, Six?"

Courier watches, horrified, as Benny signals for two of his cronies to check out the commotion. No. No, she isn't _alright_. She is possibly the furthest thing from it. 

"We have to get out of here," she says, keeping her eyes on the men. 

"What're you talking about?" Boone hisses in her ear, his grip tightening slightly. "This is why we're here, isn't it? It's time to finish this."

Arcade clears his throat. "We don't have much time to dilly-dally."

"I _can't_ do this. I'm not––" 

Not ready. Her determination has vanished at the drop of a potted plant. 

The men approach. 

"Too late," Arcade mutters. 

"Excuse me, miss," one of them says. "Our boss would like to have a word with you."

"I-I can pay for the p-plant," she stutters, anxiety choking her up. With shaking hands, she makes to bring her knapsack around. 

The men look at each other, then back at her. The other one says, "He doesn't like to be kept waiting, ma'am."

Courier swallows hard, her gaze sliding to the lenses of Boone's sunglasses. Silently, she pleads for help. 

Arcade steps in. "If it's not for the plant, can we ask what this is in regards to?" 

The men fully ignore him. The first one holds out his hand to Courier. "This way, please."

Can she refuse? She hyper-focuses on the pistols sat on each of their hips and decides she probably can't. 

"I'll catch up with you guys later," Courier says. 

Boone's mouth pops open uncharacteristically. "Six––"

"Back at the Kings' place," she says. "Take ED-E and wait for me there."

ED-E buzzes sharply, earning a wary glance from the goons. 

Boone and Arcade share a look, and then Boone says, "Okay. See you later?"

"Yeah. See you later."

Reluctantly, Courier's companions leave her. Alone now, she follows behind one man as the other follows her. She curses internally; her impulsivity got her trapped here. 

As they draw near, Benny's hideous jacket consumes her field of vision. She snaps out of her uncertainty just as fast as she snapped into it. 

"What in the goddamn?" Benny's eyes roam over Courier, sending a sickening shiver through her. "Haven't I killed you before?" 

"Didn't take," she snaps, proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. "You're Benny, right?"

"I am," he says, obviously stunned by her coming back from the dead. "And you are?" 

"Courier Six." She removes the lighter from her pocket with deliberate movements and slaps it down on the table. "Jessup told me to shove this up your ass when I find you. Should I do it now or later?"

Benny's eyebrows arch. "Why don't you pop a squat, girlie?"

She would rather throw herself at the feet of a Deathclaw. "Maybe we could talk in private."

"Hmm." He picks up the lighter, examines it, and tucks it into that godawful jacket's pocket. "About what?" 

_I'm going to fucking kill you with my bare hands._ "The package you stole from me after you shot me in the head. I have a few questions about it."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not answerin', pussycat."

She hesitates, trying to think of a new plan. What else could she say to get him alone?

An obscene thought occurs to her, and she goes with it before she can stop herself. "Alright. Don't wanna talk about that? Maybe we can talk about a different kind of package."

His eyebrow rockets halfway up his forehead. "Come again?"

She leans over him, bracing one hand on the edge of the table and the other on his shoulder. "You heard me, Mr. Gecko. You got a room?"

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. One of his henchmen clears his throat uncomfortably.

"You're a crazy broad, aren't ya?" Benny asks.

She leans closer, until their faces are inches apart. "You have no idea."

He cracks a sly grin and stands, towering over her. "We can go up to my suite and talk there."

"Lead the way."

Benny waves off his henchmen and leads Courier off the gambling floor, toward a bank of elevators. The ride up is filled with a tension that Courier tries to ignore as she also tries to come up with a plan. The most vulnerable time a person is, is when they're asleep, right? Most people tend to fall asleep after they've had sex, right?

Should she try to fuck him?

In Benny's suite, he motions for her to sit on the sofa, and she does, attempting to appear at ease.

"Can I get you something to drink, sweetheart?" he asks.

She narrows her eyes at him, the pet-name leaving a sour taste in her mouth. "No, thanks." 

"Suit yourself." He pours himself some scotch and sits down beside her. "You wanted to talk, pussycat, so talk."

She doesn't know what to say, so she puts her hand on his thigh instead, then looks at his face to gauge his reaction. 

The man is grinning like Pacer. "Decided to skip the chitchat, huh? Always liked a woman who chooses actions over words."

Tamping down revulsion, she says, "Talking's overrated, don't you think?"

He takes a hurried sip of his scotch, then sets the glass on the coffee table. "Want to get busy already, baby?"

She pauses for the barest fraction of a second. If she's doing this, she's going all in. "Yup," she says, regretting every action that brought her to this moment. "Fuck me, Benny Gecko."

 

When Courier wakes, she doesn't recall exactly what happened last night. She recalls the sex, of course––mediocre at best. She'll have to have a meeting with the King when she gets back to erase that memory. Everything else is a little hazy. 

She rolls over, ready to throttle the man––and finds the space next to her empty and cold.

She sits up, a lead ball dropping into her stomach. _What the fuck? What the_ fuck _?_

She fucked herself––and not in a good way. She shouldn't have fallen asleep, but god _damn_ , the man had so much energy. They'd gone at it for what seemed like hours, so she passed out when it finally ended. 

She gets out of bed, setting about finding her clothing and cursing herself along the way. "You fucking idiot, Six," she mutters to herself. "You let the fucko get away. I can't fucking believe this."

She finds her underwear, upon which lies a note on the Tops' stationary. Classy. In rounded lettering, Benny wrote the most disturbing _thanks for the sex_ note Courier has ever received. Despite being disgusted by it, she packs it into her knapsack before turning to the door. Maybe she can blackmail him with it later. 

She stops, suddenly realizing there is a low whirring noise, like that of overheating machinery. If he'd left on a hair dryer, she wouldn't be surprised. She turns back to the room and follows the sound. 

Behind a door, in a dim and musty room, there stands a lone Securitron. Like Victor's screen, this one displays a distinct graphic, but this one is a bright-eyed smiley face. Courier finds herself smiling despite herself. 

"Hello, there!" the Securitron greets her in an upbeat voice. "You must be Benny's friend from last night."

Courier scoffs. "I guess you could say that. Who are you?"

"How rude of me. My name is Yes Man. What's yours?"

"Courier Six." She glances around the room, trying discern a purpose for a hacked Securitron in a side room of a fancy suite. "What're you doing up here, Yes Man?"

"Funny you should ask. Benny was going to use me and the Platinum Chip to take over New Vegas."

She blanks, her jaw falling ajar. Platinum Chip. The thing she'd been couriering. The thing Benny had tried to kill her for. " _Hah_?!"

"Yeah! There was this whole big plan––but now that Benny's run off with the Chip, I'm not quite sure what to do now."

She blinks hard at his face, her hand curling into a fist at her side. "Do you know where he was going?"

"Maybe Fortification Hill, in Cottonwood Cove. There's a whole bunker full of Securitrons down there! The Chip is supposed to upload my personality to them, so it's likely he'll be going there. But, that's Legion territory, so I'm not sure how well that'll work out for him." He punctuates with a chuckle. 

"Why are you telling me all this? Aren't you Benny's?"

"I was designed to be helpful to whoever speaks to me! Not a lot of security protocols in my programming. That was pretty dumb, huh?" 

Something clicks, an idea unfolding. "Helpful to whoever? So... you could help me, right?"

"I sure could, and I sure will! What can I help you with, Six?"

"I want to track down Benny, find the Chip, and take over New Vegas." Saying that out loud feels strange. Take over New Vegas? She _must_ have a death wish. "What do I have to do?"

"Hmm. You'd probably have to learn about all the tribes in the Mojave, to see who you'd like to stick around after you've taken over. Oh, and kill Mr. House, too."

She pauses, her mind racing. "Mr. House?"

"Yeah! Mr. House, the guy running New Vegas at this very moment! Have you met him?"

"I haven't had the pleasure," she mutters, already plotting on how to get into the Lucky 38 and kill such an important guy. She couldn't even kill Benny, and she got as close as close could get. "How do I do it?"

"I'll help you figure out a way, Six! But, first, you should probably meet with the White Glove Society over at the Ultra Luxe. They're the closest, so it only makes sense to meet with them first."

She looks up at his graphic and nods. With Yes Man's help, she might actually be able to pull this off. "Okay. I have a few things I need to take care of, and then I'll head over."

"Sounds good to me," he says. "Oh, and another thing: With Benny gone, I can't stay here. Is there a place where it will be convenient for you to access me?"

"Uh..." She doesn't have a home of her home, so the only place she can think of is: "Primm. Down south. There's the Bison Steve Hotel. Stay there, and I'll come get you when I'm ready for the next step, okay?"

"Gotcha! Save travels, Six."

"You, too, my friend."

 

When Courier exits the Tops, her trusty bat resting comfortably between her shoulder blades, she runs into none other than Victor.

"Howdy, Six! Glad to see ya." 

Courier wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. "We can't keep running into each other like this. The neighbors will start to talk."

He gives a hearty chuckle. "My word, I would hope not. But, I'm glad I ran into you. I have an invitation to extend."

"Huh?" Who on earth would invite her anywhere?

"Mr. House would like to cordially invite you for a private meeting in his suite at the Lucky Thirty-Right. A great honor, I'd say, seein' as how Mr. House don't ever have guests."

Courier's jaw goes slack. An opening just like that? Maybe there is a God after all. "O-okay. Tell him I'll be there soon. I just need to meet up with my friends and––"

"Hold on, darlin'. This invitation is only extended to you for the time bein'. As for now, you're the only outsider permitted into the Lucky Thirty-Eight."

She handled Benny by herself–– _sort of_. She could handle Mr. House by herself, too. "Okay. I still have some things I need to do before I stop by."

"I'll let 'im know. You take care now, Six, and I'll see ya soon."

"You, too, Victor." 

Courier makes her way back to Freeside. Turning the corner to the Kings' place, she runs into Arcade leaning against the wall outside, a cigarette resting between two fingers. 

He straightens hastily. "Six? Where have you been? Boone's been driving me up the wall with his worrying."

"He––he was worried about me?" she asks, shocked. She didn't think Boone worried about much of anything. 

"Yes." Arcade tapped the lit end of his cigarette against the brick and tucked the remainder into his pocket. "He's inside if you want to see him."

She composes herself quickly. "Actually, if you're not busy, I need to talk to you, too." 

"I suppose I could join you two for a few minutes."

Upstairs, ED-E is unfazed to see her. Boone, however, practically leaps out of the chair he sits in. "Jesus, Six. You said _later_."

"Good to see you, too, Boone. I, uh, need to tell you guys something." She gestures for him to sit back down. Once she's comfortable sitting on the edge of one bed and Arcade sits on the edge of the other, she says, "New plan. I'm taking over New Vegas."

"What," Boone says, his tone flat. The bottom half of his face betrays no emotion, either. 

"Did you fall over and smack your head on the pavement, or...?" Arcade trails off, a pale eyebrow rising. 

"I'm serious. I know it's crazy, but––" 

"At least you're aware of that."

Before she can explain about Yes Man, Boone holds up a hand. "I'm in."

She looks at him, her eyes wide as they can be. "You're in? Thought I'd have to convince you."

"Not me, but maybe Gannon."

Arcade rubs his eyes underneath his glasses. "How, pray tell, do you suppose you could do that?" 

She explains what happened last night and this morning, tells them all about Benny and Yes Man. All three of them cringe at the part where Benny yelled out, " _Nice charlies! Give 'em a shake for the Ben-Man_!"

Arcade rolls his eyes. "One question: How do we know if we can trust––what was his name?––Yes Man?"

"I dunno. I need to figure out a way to make him loyal." Courier rests her elbows on her knees and rubs her temples. "But, he seemed knowledgeable, anyway, and I'm willing to try."

"What made you want to do this in the first place?" 

"I dunno. Just came to me."

Arcade exchanges a one-sided look with Boone. 

"What?" Boone says, scowling at Arcade. "Tell me you don't think this place could use something different."

"Different? Maybe. Six? No."

Courier bristles. "You don't even know me. Besides, I wasn't going to lead. We'd have an election or something––" She shakes her head, waves a hand. "The details aren't important right now. I have a starting point, and we'll figure out the rest as we go. If you don't want to help, you can take yourself back to the Followers."

Arcade draws his lips into his mouth and bites down for a moment. Then, he says, "I'll stick around for now, since it sounds like you may need a doctor during this endeavor."

She tries not to think about why she may need a doctor. "Thank you."

"What's on the menu first, then?" Arcade inquires. 

Another idea––maybe even more stupid than taking over New Vegas––sparks into existence. "I'm going radscorpion-hunting."


	8. Chapter 8

Dodging Pacer's bedroom, Courier pays a quick visit to the King. His company is much more pleasurable than Benny's. And, afterward, she dresses, thanks him, and heads for the door. 

"Hold on there, Six," he says, a lit cigarette already hanging from his bottom lip. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, uh..." She rubs the back of her neck. "Sorry for the fuck-and-dump, my guy, but I have stuff to take care of."

He smiles, amused. "I wanted to ask if you'd do me another favor."

She leans against the closed door and narrows her eyes playfully. "Depends. What is it?"

"My old pal, Rex––well, he hasn't been feeling too well lately. Poor thing's in pain half the time, and I just can't stand to see him this way anymore. I think there's a doctor up in Jacobstown that may be able to help him. I was wondering––if you had the time––would you take him up there and have him checked out?"

"That's it? Sure, sure. No problem. I'd be glad to have him."

He inclines his head slightly. "Much appreciated, Six. You be careful out there, huh?"

She mock-salutes and opens the door. "I'll try."

* * *

"What is this, Six?" Arcade asks, pointing loosely at Rex. 

" _He_ is Rex, and you will refer to him as such," Courier says, shielding her eyes from the sun as she fiddles with the sunglasses hooked over her collar. The joint has her shirt stuck in it, but she tugs it free. She slides the sunglasses onto her face and looks up at the sky. The sun hangs low and fresh in it. "He'll be accompanying us for the foreseen future. Hope you're not allergic."

"Mm, no, but I don't particularly care for dogs."

"Jeez, Arcade. Is all you do complain?"

"I'm not even going to start with you about your grammar."

She snickers and flaps a hand at him. "While we're in the area, I have some business with the Crimson Caravan. Either of you know exactly where they are?"

"I'll lead the way," Arcade says. 

A short while later, they enter the bustling compound. Courier isn't sure where to start, so she marches up to the nearest person who doesn't look very busy. "Excuse me. Can I ask you a quick question?"

The woman looks up from her can of Cram and says with a full mouth, "Yeah?"

"Do you know a guy named Ringo, by chance?"

She swallows. "Ringo? What do you want with him?"

"Guy owes me caps. I'm sure you understand."

She nods knowingly. "He should be in the barracks." She points at one of the small, low buildings against the wall. "He just came back from a run, so he's probably resting."

"Don't worry. I won't be too much of a bother to him."

Courier has her companions wait outside the building, and then she steps inside, closing the door behind her. She spots him almost immediately, as he's the only person asleep in one of the bunks. Everyone else is busy with other work: mending clothing, packing, unpacking. None of them pay her any mind. 

She wonders briefly how she should approach this. Two options come to mind. She could be gentle, wake him with a sweet, quiet voice––or she could roughly shake him and demand her caps. 

She decides on the latter. 

She leans over him, grabs his shoulder, and gives him a shake. "Wakey, wakey, Ringo! Where's my money?"

He startles awake, his eyes flying open. On instinct, his hands grasp her forearm and try to wrench it away. It doesn't work. "What the fuck?!"

"I should kill you, you little asshole," she hisses at him, giving him another shake. "I needed that money a few days ago and––guess what. I _didn't have it_."

He calms down enough to focus on her face. "Oh, shit, it's _you_." He lets go of her and and holds his hands in a placating gesture. Courier is not in the mood to be placated. "Look, look. I'm sorry. It's a _long_ walk from Goodsprings to Vegas, and I had to _circle around_ because of all those Deathclaws lurkin' around north of Goodsprings. I wanted to get a head start.

With her free hand, she jabs him in the other shoulder with the knuckle of her middle finger. "You couldn't'a left a note?!"

"Ow! Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm s––"

"Four hundred," she interjects. 

"F...?" His eyes widen as he gathers the context. "Four _hundred_ caps?!"

"Well, I'll be a radroach's uncle. He can hear!" She holds out her hand, palm up, before his face. "Four hundred caps, my guy, for the disappearing act."

He sighs. "Alright, okay. I got four hundred, if it'll make you happy."

"Yes, Ringo, it'll make me so fucking _giddy_!" She finally lets go of him and straightens. 

He rolls off the thin mattress and pulls out a satchel from underneath the bed. He hands her a pouch, and then she waits patiently as he counts out another hundred for her. "See? I was saving your caps separately and everything."

"Good job. Pleasure doing business with ya." She heads for the exit, enjoying the weight of more caps in her knapsack. 

"Wait, what? That's it? You're leaving?"

"Yup! I'll be back––if I ever want to make an honest living."

"Christ, lady. You're insane, aren't you?"

She turns at the door, points a finger-gun at him, and says, "You have no idea."

* * *

The group heads south, toward Boulder City. Courier had made it a point that, though it would take longer, they should take the more well-travelled route back to Primm. By no means did they want to run into one Deathclaw, let alone thirty. They all decided they value their lives more than however many days they would save taking the shorter way. 

"You mentioned something about hunting radscorpions?" Boone says after a couple of hours of travel. 

Sweat slides down the back of courier's neck. She wipes it away in annoyance. "Yeah. You wouldn't mind coming with me, would you? I'm a shit shot."

"So, were you just going to walk up to one and beat it to death?"

"That was the plan, yes."

Arcade snorts but doesn't say anything. 

"Well, I'll go to keep you from getting yourself killed," Boone says. 

"Maybe you can teach me to shoot," she suggests, turning slightly to wiggle her eyebrows at him. "Who better to learn from than former First Recon?"

"Eh. I don't like other people handling my gun."

"I'll be very gentle." 

"Good grief," Arcade says. 

Courier turns to him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"We should stop at that place up ahead," Boone says, pointing to a shack on an overpass where a small group of people are trading. "Looks like there's some coverage underneath where we can spend the night after we've gone hunting."

"Sounds good to me," Courier says. "Arcade?"

"Anything to get out of this wretched sun," Arcade says. "I'll wait for you guys there, if that's alright. I don't have much interest in putting my life in danger for––what was it again?"

"A woman in Primm makes radscorpion casseroles. Need to bring her the poison gland for her to make it for me."

" _What_? You're doing this for a _casserole_?"

"Ya." Courier lifts a shoulder. "Heard it's real good." 

"Oh, my word."

"Hey, it'll be fine. You worry too much. Boone, tell him we'll be fine."

"We'll be fine," Boone echoes. 

"Besides, Boone will be there. Nothing can come within half a mile of him without him knowing."

"I wouldn't go that far, Six... Three hundred meters, tops."

"See? Guy's infallible."

"Hm. Well, just be careful, okay?" Arcade says. 

"Oh, see if they have stimpaks? Just in case." Courier reaches into her knapsack and pulls out the pouch Ringo gave her. "My treat."

Arcade takes the pouch from her, as well as her knapsack. "I'll give you two five hours before I assume you're dead and take your caps back with me to Vegas." He holds his hand out for Boone's backpack, but Boone gives a firm shake of his head. 

Courier nods. "Sounds reasonable. Since you're not too fond of either ED-E or Rex, whose company would you prefer?"

"Ah..." Arcade scratches his chin with a sigh. "I'll take Rex, I guess."

Courier stoops over and pats the back of Rex's neck, not wanting to disturb his brain dome. "Be a good boy for the doctor, okay?" 

Rex wags his tail in response. 

Courier, Boone, and ED-E leave Arcade and Rex at the trading post and travel a little further south in search of radscorpions. They walk for a while with only the sounds of Radio New Vegas playing through the speaker of her Pip-Boy to keep them company. This is what she likes about Boone. Even though she can hardly stand silence, she is always able to lapse into a comfortable silence with him. 

Suddenly, Boone drops to a knee, simultaneously bringing around his rifle. 

Courier walks another few steps before she notices he isn't beside her. "What is it? Fiends? Feral ghouls?"

"Radscorpion," he says, and pulls the trigger. The resulting bang causes Courier to wince. He straights and leads the way to the radscorpion corpse about six hundred feet away. 

"Hell, yeah, man." Courier crouches by the body and pulls out her knife to harvest the gland.

"Is this the only one you need?" he asks, watching her drive the blade into the creature. 

She jimmies in the blade, and the exoskeleton splits with a crack. "I wanted to get a few more," she replies, poking around in the guts for the poison gland. "I'm planning on gorging myself with casserole for a few days at least."

"Alright. I'll keep an eye out for more."

Courier jabs the tip of the knife into the gland and draws it out. "Well, where there's one, there's gotta be more, right?"

He holds out a rag, and she places the gland into it. He wraps it up and places it in ED-E's storage compartment. "You'd think so."

She stands up. "So, you gonna teach me how to shoot now or what?"

"What." He starts walking again, the rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. 

She smiles despite herself. He's an ass, but he's a lovable one. 

A couple of hours later, ED-E's compartment is laden with four poison glands, which is more than enough. They head back toward the trading post. There, they find Arcade sitting under the overpass with his legs stretched out before him, fanning himself with his hand. Rex lays at his feet, his head resting on his paws. 

"You okay, Arcade?" Courier asks, plopping down next to him. "You don't look so good."

"I'm sweating bullets, and you're still bad with grammar. What do you think?"

She chuckles and reaches for her knapsack. "I'll go see if they have cool water for sale."

"Don't bother. I have some." He opens his own backpack and searches around in it. "It's probably hot as the desert, but don't waste the caps."

"Well, did they have stimpaks?"

"They did. I talked them down to sixty a piece and bought six. You don't need one, do you?"

"No, but I thought they'd be good to have. Y'know. Just in case." 

"Hey, Six?" Boone says, his voice low.

She looks at him, eyebrow raised. 

He points loosely across the cracked road. "That kid's staring at you."

She follows his line of sight and sees that he's right. A kid with an odd device strapped around his head is staring directly at her. 

"Maybe he's looking at you," she says, elbowing him in the arm.

"Doubt it."

"I'll go talk to him." She hauls herself to her feet and strolls across the way with her hands tucked in her pockets. "Hey, kiddo. Got a staring problem?"

"Huh?" The kid blinks up at her. "Oh. I mean... I just have this... feeling about you."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. What's the deal, though?"

"If you have some caps, I can think you a thought." He gestures for her to sit.

"Think me a thought? What?"

"See this thing on my head?" He taps the side of it with his index finger. It's my medicine. It keeps me from thinking too much during the day. When I take it off, I can think a bunch of different things."

Courier's eyes narrow. "What kinds of things do you think about?"

"I can think about you, here, or everywhere. Twenty caps per thought."

She hesitates––and then she goes to retrieve some caps from her knapsack, because curiosity has once again taken hold of her. Boone and Arcade watch her curiously, but she ignores them. She sits cross-legged before the boy, letting her eyes roam over the assortment of junk lining the wall behind him. "What's all this stuff? Do you sell it?"

"These are other peoples' thoughts. They're not for sale. So, which thought did you want me to think first?" 

"Um..." She counts out sixty caps and hands them over. "Me?"

"Okay." He removes his headgear and clears his throat. "Your face does the thinking. Two to the skull, yet one gets up. Odds are against you... but they're just numbers after the two-to-one. You're playing the hand you've been dealt, but you don't let it rest. You shuffle and stack––and a gamble... a gamble that may pay off? But, how? Forecast: Rapidly-changing conditions."

Suddenly uneasy, Courier swallows hard, her hand reflexively coming up to rub the scar on her forehead. "Alrighty. How about 'here'?"

He takes a moment with his eyes closed. Then, he says, "Local, local, the here and now... little of interest. Things to buy, false hopes, and regrets watered down, washed down in dirty glasses. With regret comes a girl... smiling sad, brown robe, name Veronica, half here. Wraps her and her heart up like a pack. In the pack, a key, some say. Forecast: Cloudy, with a chance of friendship."

_Veronica_... and friendship? Courier could use more friends. After she hears about everywhere, she'll go find this girl. She must be right over their heads. "And, everywhere?"

Another moment of silence as he collects his thoughts. "Bull and bear over the Dam, at each other's throats... but a light from Vegas? Ball spinning on the wheel. More than two at the table. Placing bets. All lose in different ways. A dam of corpses, towns of corpses, scattered across the sand. But whose in what shares? Even the dealer doesn't know. Forecast: A rain of blood will flood the desert and not purify it."

A wave of nausea rolls over Courier. _Bull_ and _Bear_ could only be the Legion and the NCR. Is he predicting a battle at Hoover Dam? But, he's just a kid. What could he know about war?

"Thanks, kid." She watches him waver, his eyes blinking slowly. "Put your thingy back on, yeah? Don't want you passing out, do we?"

He shakes his head before putting his medicine back on. He doesn't say anything else, and neither does she. He lies down with his back to her, and she retreats back to her companions. 

"What the hell did he want?" Boone asks as she paces back and forth in front of them.

"He's fucking psychic," she hisses, one hand scratching at her scar, the other fisted on her hip. "He knew I got shot in the head."

"What? How could he know that?"

"Maybe the scar gave it away?" Arcade suggested, looking at them like they were both idiots. 

"There's no fucking way a scar could give _that_ away," Courier says, exasperated. "There's no way he would know..." She trails off, then looks at the concrete overhead. "I'll be right back."

"Six? What––?" Boone begins, but she's already jogging down the road.

She circles around and heads up to the trading post. She glances around the crowd, hoping to spot a girl in a brown robe.

Finally, she does. The girl sits at a busted picnic table, sipping from a bottle of water. Courier marches up to her and sits down across from her. 

The girl looks up, startled at the intrusion. "Um... hi?"

"Hi," Courier says. "Is your name Veronica?"

The girl narrows her eyes at Courier. "How did you––?"

"Don't ask why, but I think we're destined to be friends." She sticks out her right hand. "Courier Six, by the way."

"Is that your name, or...?"

"Yeah. My friends call me Six."

Veronica takes Courier's hand hesitantly. "Veronica Santangelo. Nice to meet you, I think."

Courier grins. 

"Can I ask you something? Y'know, since we're friends?"

"Sure."

"Have you heard of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

The name rings a bell. The faction is known for hoarding technology in a hidden hole in the ground somewhere in the Mojave. "Uh, they're the ones that shoot lasers out of their eyeballs, right?"

Veronica scoffs in disbelief.

"I'm just jokin'. I've heard of them, yeah."

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm one of them?"

Courier eyes the drab robe Veronica wears. "Yeah, I'd believe ya. But, it begs the question: What are you doing on the surface? Don't you guys live, like, underground?"

"I'm a scribe, which means I get to explore the outside world and bring back stuff we can't make on our own. So, if we're destined to be friends... do you think I could come with you, wherever you're going?"

"Uh, hell, yeah? Of course! I'd be super glad to have you. I've just been traveling with an ex-First Recon soldier, a doctor from the Followers of the Apocalypse, an eyebot, and a cyberdog. I'd be totally glad to have you along."

Veronica stares at her for a long moment. "Sounds fun. Where are you guys heading next?"

"Primm, for radscorpion poison casserole."

Another long stare. "You lead an interesting life, don't you, Six?"

"Don't even get me started on the time I got shot in the head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to get back into the swing of writing, so i'm sorry for the clunkiness. it should become a bit smoother in the next few chapters!


	9. Chapter 9

Courier leans her chair back on two legs and kicks her feet up onto the table. She rests the bowl on her stomach and digs in with a spoon she found on the floor in the kitchen area downstairs and gave a spit-shine. 

"That's disgusting," Arcade says. "I could have washed that for you."

"Shouldn't waste the water." She takes her first bite of Ruby's casserole and groans loudly. "Guys, hurry and eat yours before it gets cold. This shit is delicious."

"Please don't say 'shit' and 'delicious' in the same sentence."

She takes another bite and says with a full mouth, "Seriously? This shit? Delicious." 

Across from her, Veronica sits straight as a board, her elbows politely off the table like Arcade's. Boone has both elbows firmly on the edge of the table, his arms wrapped around his dish protectively, as if he's trying to keep someone from snatching it away. Rex feeds from a bowl of dog food across the room with ED-E hovering quietly behind him in the corner. Yes Man had joined them when they first got to the Bison Steve Hotel, and he stands in another corner, waiting. 

Courier notices that Veronica hasn't touched her food. "Not hungry?"

"Me? No––I mean, yes. It's just... I'm afraid to try it, if I'm being honest," Veronica says, a blush coloring her pale cheeks. 

"Why? It's really good."

"Isn't it made with poison?"

"It's probably harmless once it's been cooked."

"Otherwise, why would Mrs. Nash continue to make it?" Yes Man adds.

Veronica eyes the Securitron warily. Then, she takes up her spoon––another spit-shine job, courtesy of Courier––and digs into her own bowl. Her eyes widen after her first bite. "Oh, wow."

"Good, right?" Courier asks. 

Veronica nods and continues eating. 

Boone pushes away his clean bowl and leans back in his seat. "We should probably talk about or next step."

Idly, Courier taps the edge of her bowl with the spoon. "Well, I was thinking we'd stay here for a week or so. Y'know. Hang out. Get to know each other. Blah, blah, blah. Then, we'd head back up to Vegas, so I can meet with Mr. House."

Veronica chokes and starts coughing. She reaches for her water bottle and downs a gulp. "Y-you're meeting _who_?"

"Whom," Arcade corrects. He is largely ignored. 

"Mr. House. Lucky Thirty-Eight. Ruler of New Vegas," Courier says. "I take it you've heard of him."

"Well, yeah?" Veronica coughs once more into her fist. "You're actually going to meet him? No one's ever met him before!"

"Yeah, well, lucky me, I guess."

"Why does he want to meet _you_?"

"I've been asking myself the same thing," Arcade says. 

Courier sticks out her tongue at him, and he scoffs. 

Veronica shakes her head. "I didn't mean for that to sound rude. I'm just curious."

"So am I," Courier says, reaching forward to set down her empty dish. She pats her full stomach. "I'm gonna meet with him. Maybe attempt an assassination if I can get an opening. We'll see how I'm feeling that day."

Veronica chokes again. 

Boone reaches over and claps her twice on the back. "You'll learn to stop eating when Six speaks."

"You guys are assholes," Courier laughs. "I'm not that crazy."

Despite the sunglasses, Boone gives her _the look_ , the one that roughly translates to _Really, Six?_

"Why do you want to kill Mr. House?" Veronica asks, looking at Courier with wide eyes. 

Arcade gives Courier his version of _the look_ , which roughly translates to _You've got to be kidding me, Six_. 

Courier blinks at the ceiling. "Yes Man, help me out here."

"Sure thing, Six!" Yes Man launches into the explanation that inspired Courier to carry this out. By the end of it, Veronica looks ill, Arcade looks amused, and Boone doesn't look like anything at all. 

"Look. It'll be fine! It'll be fine." As she says it, Courier attempts to convince herself of the same thing. "I'm gonna meet with him first, then we'll go check out the Ultra-Luxe, alright? I'm not gonna kill anyone just yet, okay?" 

"Sounds vaguely like a plan," Arcade says with a nod. 

"Thank you, Arcade."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Thanks, anyway."

* * *

Courier searches the hotel thoroughly. Another trek to New Vegas demands gloves and a bandana, and she'll be damned if she leaves without either. 

She kneels beside an uneven bed and pulls open the bedside table's drawer. She sticks her hand in and comes up empty. Exasperated, as this is the last room in the hotel that she hasn't checked, she slams the drawer back into place. 

"What's all that noise for?" Boone asks, leaning against the doorjamb. 

She stands and places her hands on her hips. "This hotel is bare as fuck. No gloves, and even less bandanas."

He reaches behind him into a back pocket and pulls out a pair of worn leather gloves. 

She stares at the pair for a good minute. He runs a thumb over the material, then tosses them to her. She snatches them out of the air and eagerly pulls them on. The leather is soft and perfectly broken in. 

"Where did you find these?" she inquires, flexing her fingers. 

"Oh, I bought 'em from Mrs. Nash. Got tired of you whining about dirt under your nails all the time."

She looks up at him, beaming. "How much were they?"

He rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, then waves the same hand. "Don't worry about it."

Her eyes narrow. "Why?"

He sighs. "Can't I do something nice without you being suspicious?"

"You being nice _is_ suspicious. How much do I owe you?"

"If you keep asking, I'll take them back."

She draws her gloved hands against her chest with a small gasp. "Why would you do that? They're my most prized possession."

"What about your bat?"

"They're my second-most prized possession."

He scoffs and shoulders himself away from the jamb. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh." She clears her throat. "Thanks, Boone."

He nods once and leaves. 

She sits on the edge of the mattress and holds out her hands to admire the leather that covers them. 

Since he went out of his way to do something nice for her, it's only fair that she do the same for him. But, what does Boone need––or want? She never pegged him for someone who was concerned much with material possessions––save for his rifle and beret––because he was so ready to pack up and leave Novac. 

Courier makes a mental note: keep an eye out for a bandana and another for a gift for Boone.

* * *

For the first time since confronting Benny Fucko, Courier is nervous. She picks at a dangling string at the wrist of her glove as a Securitron verifies her identity. 

"You are the courier from the Mojave Express," the Securitron states as it deposits the deliver order into her knapsack. 

"That would be me, yeah," she says. "I was told I have to go in alone?"

"That is correct, ma'am. Are you ready to enter the Lucky Thirty-Eight?"

The simple question carries more weight than it should, but Courier Six is no coward––and she is not about to start now. She nods assuredly. 

This morning, she left her companions at the Kings', _promising_ them that she would be back later today, as she was not going to attempt to fuck Mr. House. 

"After you, ma'am," the Securitron said, gesturing with a bulky toward the entrance. 

Her first step inside is met with a blast of cold air. Goosebumps pop up along her arms, and she shivers involuntarily. She is used to the relentless heat of the Mojave, but this isn't exactly unpleasant. After a few moments, it even began to feel nice. 

As she is ushered toward the elevator, she takes a quick look around. Everything is intact–– _Pre-War intact_. She's never seen anything so clean before, not even herself. 

By the elevator stands none other than Victor, who greets her by way of a cheerful "Howdy, Six! Glad to see ya made it alright."

"Hey, Victor," she says, her arms folded over her stomach in an attempt to keep in her body heat. "Is it always so cold in here?"

He chuckles. "The cold helps keep us Securitrons runnin' in tip-top shape. Mr. House relies on us too much for us to start malfunctionin' and whatnot. Anyways, the boss is waitin' for you upstairs. I can take you up there."

She follows Victor into the wide space of the elevator. He taps the button for the penthouse with one of his grabbers. 

"Must be quite a view," she says as they travel steadily upward. Courier knows she had been in some kind of lift before, but she doesn't think it was as fast or safe as this one. 

"Sure is. You'll see it in a minute."

When they step out of the elevator at the top, they run into another Securitron, but this one displays a graphic Courier wasn't expecting. A woman's face smiles perpetually down at her. 

"Hello, sugar. I'm Jane, Mr. House's best girl," the Securitron says in a sweet, feminine voice. "We've heard so much about you, and we're so excited to finally meet you."

Courier begins to feel dizzy. Does Jane not realize she's a robot? How can Mr. House allow a robot to carry feelings for him? "Thanks. It––it's nice to meet you, too."

"Well, I expect Mr. House is eager to meet you," she says. "Right down these stairs, then swing a left. He'll be through those curtains." 

Courier peers over the railing and spots the curtains almost immediately. She rubs her biceps vigorously before dropping her hands to her sides, and then she descends the steps. To her right, the wall is windows. She pauses, her mouth slack. She can see the desert for miles, and it's somehow the most incredible thing she has ever seen. 

"I'll take you on the tour later," Victor calls from the elevator, pulling Courier out of her trance. "For now, Mr. House is waitin'."

Courier tears her gaze away from the view and proceeds to the curtains. Beyond them is a wide, open room that is guarded by two Securitrons. A couch in perfect condition rests against the wall to her left, and a giant computer screen takes up the entirety of the wall to her right. Mr. House is nowhere to be found. 

She's about to turn back around when the screen flickers to life, and a graphic of a middle-aged man with coiffed hair and a mustache fills the screen. 

A man's voice comes from the computer: "You must be Courier Six."

Startled, Courier backpedals until she reaches the couch. Reflexively, she shouts, "What the fuck!" and reaches for her bat. 

"No need to be afraid, I assure you," the computer says. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Courier finds no solace in that. Her hand tightens on the grip, ready to smash the hell out of the screen or the Securitrons if anything fishy happens. "Are you...?"

"I am Mr. House. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I came all this way to meet you, and you're going to hide behind a computer screen? Rude."

Mr. House chuckles, though the graphic remains static. "In due time."

Courier scowls, but she is in no position to argue. "Fine. You invited me here––for what, exactly?"

"Seeing as you don't beat around the bush, neither will I. I'm the one who hired six of the Mojave Express's couriers to carry parcels for me. You happened to the be the courier responsible for an item called the Platinum Chip."

She inhales sharply. " _You_?" With what Yes Man told her the Chip can do at the forefront of her mind, the next word she wants to snap is _why_. He begins to speak before she can. 

"Yes. I understand you no longer have it in your possession, so I need to know what transpired."

"Didn't Victor tell you? He works for you, doesn't he?"

"He told me what he saw, yes, but I'd like to hear your side in your words."

"Well, it's a long story, I'm guessing," Courier says, her stomach steadily dropping. What happens if she says something he doesn't like? "I don't remember most of it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, uh, the guy who robbed me put a bullet in my head. I'm lucky to be alive, my guy."

Mr. House doesn't care about the medical miracle that is Courier Six, for he continues his line of questioning. "And the man? Where is he?"

"I––He was at the Tops. I went there, confronted him––but he escaped. I couldn't––I didn't get the Chip back. I'm sorry."

"I see."

Courier swallows hard. "Yeah. I think I know where he went, but––"

"When you confronted him," Mr. House says, drawing out each word, "how did he manage to escape?"

She considers briefly about telling the truth, and then decides that would be idiotic because what she did was incredibly idiotic. So, she says, "I was going to throttle him, but his security intervened before I could get my hands on him. They rushed him out, and that was the last I saw of him."

"You said you know where he went?"

"Maybe. I think he went to the Legion."

"Oh. That's not good at all."

"I agree."

"Well, you know what you must do, then."

Courier's eyebrow climbs halfway up her forehead. "Heh?"

"As you're still under contract, you must retrieve the Chip and deliver it to me."

Again, Courier says, "Heh?"

"You didn't really think you could lose such a valuable object and get off scot-free, did you?"

"Uh... I... I got shot in the head, my man."

"Yet, here you are. So, you'll go wherever he went and retrieve the Chip by any means necessary, or there will be severe consequences. Do you understand?"

Courier states at the screen for a very long time. It surprises her how patient he is. "Okay, I guess."

"Good. While you conduct your search, you may stay here, in the presidential suite. Victor will show you."

"I have companions––"

"They may stay as well, so long as they stay away from this floor. You will not discuss anything about me, personally, though details of your assignment may be shared. Is this understood?"

"Y-yeah. Gotcha."

"Good. You may go, but be sure to give me updates."

"Uh, yep. See ya." 

"Good luck."

In a state of shock, Courier heads back to the elevator, ignoring the view that enraptured her just minutes ago. 

"How did your meetin' with the boss go?" Victor asks her as they board the elevator. 

She lifts one shoulder, her mind elsewhere. She needs to get to her companions. Talk this out with them, put a plan into action to get rid of Mr. House––because she does not relish the thought of him having that kind of power over her.

* * *

"Is he insane?" Arcade asks, helping Courier carry a crate of supplies they had just purchased into the presidential suite of the Lucky 38. Behind them, Yes Man totes a bigger and heavier crate with ease. 

"I don't know," Courier answers, adjusting her grip around the edges of the crate. "The guy hid behind a computer screen, for fuck's sake. Didn't even come out and face me."

"How rude."

"That's what I said!"

Arcade helps her lower the crate onto the kitchen table and looks at Courier. " _To_ him?"

"Yeah!"

With a sigh, he rubs the corners of his eyes. "Why does this not surprise me?"

"Well, can you blame her?" Boone asks. He was tasked with hauling their weapons while the rest of them huffed and puffed through the streets of Freeside with the supplies. He drops the duffel bag onto the floor at his feet and leans back against the wall. "Guy sounds like a dick."

"He was. He was an enormous dick," Courier affirms. "Threatened me, too."

Veronica stops unpacking cans of food. "He what?" 

"Threatened me." Courier begins to load bottles of water into the refrigerator. The coldness of it is completely foreign but entirely welcome. "Pretty much said he'd have me killed if I didn't get the Chip back for him."

"If that's the case, should we even be staying here?" Veronica asks, looking around anxiously at the group. 

"He said we could," Courier says, "and it's cold in here. I like it. I'm staying. If you don't want to, there's a sweaty room at the Kings' with your name on it."

"Oh, um..."

Courier realizes too late that the offer came out rudely. She waves it away with a flick of her wrist. "I mean, I'm sure we'll be fine if we all stick together."

Veronica nods slowly, her eyes downcast. Courier has a sinking suspicion that Veronica doesn't like her very much. 

"Yes Man," Arcade says, "do you know if we're being monitored here?"

"Oh, no. I mean, yes, I know, but no, you're not being monitored," Yes Man replies. "Mr. House values his own privacy above all else, but he values yours as well."

"So, not even Victor will report back to him?" Arcade eyes the other Securitron, who stands motionless by the elevator, through the threshold. 

"Nope!"

"Will you?"

"Will I what, Dr. Gannon?"

"Will you report to Mr. House if he asks you about us?"

"Of course I will––if Mr. House asks me about you. It's in my programming to be helpful to whoever asks for my help."

Arcade frowns. "That's not good."

Courier hops up onto the counter by the sink and rubs slow circles into her temples. "I gotta fix that."

"Can you?" Arcade asks her. 

"I somehow fixed ED-E way back when, when I first woke up. And, I reprogrammed Primm Slim to act as sheriff," she says. "I must've been some kind of tech genius before the big bang, so I think I can reprogram him. I just need my screwdriver, some Wonderglue"––Courier points at Arcade"––and the shittiest pot of coffee Arcade can dredge up."

Arcade pulls out a tin of 200-year-old coffee from one of the crates and says, "On it."


	10. Chapter 10

Veronica watches with what Courier assumes is interest as she tinkers with Yes Man's motherboard. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Nope." Courier leans back, gnawing on the end of her trusty screwdriver. Her eyes flit over the screws and wires. "Say, I meant to ask you about your fighting style."

"My fighting style?"

"Yeah. Kinda need to know if you're gonna be traveling with us."

"Oh, um, I have a Power Fist." 

"Eh?" Courier glances at Veronica. "You handy with that?"

Veronica shrugs, but she smiles. "I'm good at punching things. It's a gift."

Courier smiles back. "I have a similar gift, but it requires a little more finesse."

"Don't you fight with a baseball bat?"

"Ya."

Veronica snorts. "I guess I'll be seeing you finesse some raiders to death eventually."

"You got that damn right," Courier says. "For now, though, we're going to check out the Ultra-Luxe, so no raider-finessin' for a while."

"Aww..." Veronica's smile fades. "Wait a second. I can't go to the Ultra-Luxe looking like _this_."

Courier draws her gaze down the length of Veronica's brown robes. "I mean, you can stay behind if you want. Shouldn't take too long."

"Oh, yeah." Veronica twiddled her thumbs. "You're gonna judge them to see if they should be kept around after Vegas has been liberated from Mr. House, right?"

"That's right."

"And, _that_ shouldn't take too long?"

"Look. I'm an excellent judge of character, alright? It'll be easy. I heard they were cannibals anyway. If that ends up being true, I'll wipe 'em off the map. It'll be fine, Veronica."

"Cannibals," Veronica echoes. "If you don't mind, I think I'll sit this one out."

"No problem. If it's true, though"––Courier mimics swinging a bat––" _boom_."

"That easy, huh?"

Courier's grin is cocky. "You haven't seen me in a fight yet."

* * *

That afternoon, Arcade volunteers to go with Courier to the Ultra-Luxe, because she "doesn't have a tactful bone in her body," so she would benefit from having him there. He also suggests that she leave behind ED-E and Rex, as they would draw unnecessary attention. 

Courier pauses, unsure if she should be offended by the _tactful bone_ comment––then reluctantly concurs. "Are you always right?" she asks him as she rubs a grease-stained cloth methodically along the length of her bat. 

"That seems to be true, yeah," Arcade says. 

"Maybe we should bring Boone, too," she suggests, tossing the cloth onto the table. 

Arcade eyes the cloth with distaste but doesn't say anything about it. "Why's that? Am I not enough muscle for you?"

"I've seen you with that jacket off. You look like a wet noodle, Gannon."

"Well, no argument there. I'm proficient with a pistol, but in a fistfight? I've never been in one, so I'm not sure how I would hold up."

"I'll give you a lesson sometime."

"It would be appreciated. Should I ask him, or will you?"

She lays her bat in the table and gets up. "I'll do it."

In the few days they have been guests at the Lucky 38, Boone, like Arcade, decided to make his room in a lower floor. Courier remembers which floor but can't remember which number room he said he would hole up in. So, she yells, "Boone!"

A door opens at the end of the hallway, and Boone steps out, wearing nothing but a ratty tank top, boxer shorts, and his beret. "What?"

Courier takes in the view, the sharp lines of his biceps, the bulge of his––

She forces herself not to smile. "What?"

"You're the one who called _me_. What do you want?"

"Oh, right." She clears her throat. "Arcade and I are heading to the Ultra-Luxe later. You in?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I'll buy you a steak."

He purses his lips as he considers. "Alright."

"So... will I be able to bribe you just with food? Sounds too easy."

"I can be bribed with other things."

Both of them pause, the implication hanging awkwardly in the wide space between them. 

A thrill shivers down Courier's spine, and then she realizes she doesn't have much time to come up with a response. She could be overtly sexual to throw him off, or she could make an implication of her own. She decides on the latter, saying, "I will keep that in mind."

Boone clears his throat and steps back into his room. 

She grins to herself as she heads up to the presidential suite.

* * *

Courier feels entirely out of place at the Ultra-Luxe, her T-shirt and jeans leagues below the finery displayed by the casino's patrons. They wear clean, Pre-War dresses and suits, as do the employees, called the White Gloves. The only different is that the White Gloves wear round, white masks and, of course, white gloves. 

When Courier, Arcade, and Boone enter, they are asked politely to relinquish their weapons, which they do. Only, Courier and Boone each hold onto a secret switchblade. 

Though their attire could be nicer, the White Gloves treat them with the same level of politeness that they do the other patrons. Courier is silently grateful for that. 

"Where do we start, Six?" Boone asks. 

Courier's eyes land upon the circular bar in the center of the gambling floor. "How about a drink first?"

"Do you think that's wise?" Arcade inquires, having no choice but to follow her. 

"Yeah. Just a little somethin' to loosen you up a little," she says, taking a seat next to a man wearing a stetson. Boone sits beside her.

Arcade occupies Boone's other side. "I'm loose enough, thank you very much. Besides, I prefer to keep my wits about me, especially in situations such as these."

"Is that what you call loose?" Courier signals the bartender for three beers.

"I'm not––" An ice-cold beer lands in front of Arcade, effectively shutting him up.

Boone scoffs. "After we've had our drinks, what's next?"

"You're starting to sound like Arcade," Courier says. 

Arcade hastily swallows his first gulp of beer to say, "I resent that."

"If y'all want somethin' to do," the man with the stetson says, startling Courier, "I have a proposition for ya."

Courier narrows her eyes, hesitant to accept an offer from a stranger wearing a stupid hat. "Shoot, my guy."

"Let me introduce myself," he says. "I'm Heck Gunderson, Brahmin Baron. You may have heard of me."

She can't help but think how presumptuous that is, despite having heard of him. "Yeah, you manage a few brahmin ranches, right? What brings you to New Vegas?"

"Working out a deal with the Ultra-Luxe to supply them with brahmin steaks. That's not the issue, though. My son, Ted, went missing from the hotel last night, and I could use some help finding him."

Courier's interest is piqued. "Missing, you say? Any leads?"

"Oh, great," she hears Arcade mutter, even over the low buzz of the casino. 

"Maybe talk to Marjorie, one of the managers here. I haven't had much luck with her, but you might. Ladies bein' more comfortable talkin' to ladies and all. She should be manning the desk in the Gourmand."

Courier ignores the sexist comment in exchange for the juicy story she is sure to unfold. "Sounds interesting. I'll help you."

"I have caps, too," Heck tells her, as if to convince her further. "Heck, I'll hire anybody with a pair of legs and at least one good eye at this point."

"I think I qualify."

He gives her a half-amused smile. 

"I'll go talk to Marjorie, then. I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you––oh. And your name?"

"Call me Six."

"Thank you in advance, Six."

Courier nods once, then turns to her companions. "You guys chill out here for a while. I'll be right back."

"You sure you don't want one of us to come with you?" Boone asks, already standing. 

She pats his shoulder. "I'll be back before you finish your beer."

Boone lifts the bottle to his lips and chugs the remaining two-thirds of the liquid. He sets the bottle on the bar top and looks down at Courier. "Beer's done, so I'll just come with you." Before Courier has a chance to argue that she'll be fine on her own for a few minutes, he says, "Gannon? You good here?"

Arcade, busy nursing his beer, gives Boone a thumbs-up.

"We'll be back in a little while. After you, Six." 

Courier shakes her head, though she is oddly satisfied by his insisting upon coming with her. "Manager's desk should be this way."

"Have you been here before?"

The layout seems vaguely familiar to her, but she isn't certain. "Maybe? I don't remember."

They find Marjorie where Heck said she would be. She appears bored, scribbling spirals onto the corner of a pad of paper. She looks up at them as they approach and dons a wide, obviously fake smile. "Hello, there. Welcome to the Gourmand. How may I help you?"

"Hi," Courier says, leaning an elbow on the counter she sits behind. "Are you Marjorie?"

"I am. What can I do for you?"

"You know anything about Heck Gunderson's son going missing?"

The smile disappears in an instant. "We didn't want that information getting out––"

"It's not _out_ , per se. I just happened to find out from Heck Gunderson himself. Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Well, no, not about that, specifically, _but_..." She frowns, then glances around before continuing. "Ted Gunderson isn't the first one to go missing from our hotel."

Courier's eyes widen. "Is that so? How many before him?"

"Just one," Marjorie says, quickly. "A bride right before her wedding day. Now, _that_ did get out, and it's hurting our reputation. If our guests found out about Ted... Well, I'm sure business would come to a complete halt."

"I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen," Courier tells her. She leaves out the part about her getting paid for her work here. "So, what do you think happened to that woman?"

Marjorie bites her lip, glances around again. "The groom-to-be hired a private investigator to look into it. Though, I suspect she just got a case of cold feet."

"Is the investigator staying here?"

"He is."

"Which room?"

"I'm not sure if I can divulge that information."

Courier's mouth forms a hard line. "This is a serious matter, lady. I need to speak with him."

"You should talk to Mortimer. He's another manager here. He may be able to help you."

"Alright. Thank you, ma'am." Courier turns and begins to head toward the hotel's reception desk. "What the fuck, Boone?"

"That's... unexpected," Boone says. "I hope she's wrong."

In the hotel, they find Mortimer easily. The man wears a ridiculous-looking top hat, and Courier has to cover her mouth to hide a grin.

"Welcome to the Ultra-Luxe Hotel," Mortimer says. "How may I assist you?"

"I, um..." She clears her throat to stifle a giggle. "I just spoke to another of your managers, Marjorie," Courier begins, "and I asked her about Mr. Heck Gunderson's son, Ted. You don't happen to know where he went, do you?"

"Tragic," Mortimer says, shaking his head. "I wish I could be of more help, but I haven't heard anything about it."

"What about the investigator looking into the missing bride? Any chance I could speak with him? It'd be a huge help."

Mortimer seems to consider it, and then he writes down a room number for her. "You should find him there. I'm glad I could be of service."

Courier takes the scrap of paper, and she and Boone head for the elevators. "Maybe this guy can help us find Ted."

"Let's have a talk with him first."

On the second floor, Courier knocks on the investigator's door. To her surprise, the door falls open at the force of her knock. The investigator lies in a pool of blood on the floor, dead. 

Hand poised as if to knock again, Courier says, "I think the blood is an improvement on the carpet, don't you think?"

"Do you have a shred of compassion, Six?" Boone asks, stepping inside and kneeling next to the body. 

"Excuse me for not wanting to wallow in misery." She closes the door behind her and watches as Boone pats down the man's pockets. 

The door bursts open suddenly, nearly clipping Courier's back. She lurches forward to avoid it, stumbles over the investigator's outstretched arm, and falls against the edge of the bed. Boone straightens faster than she has ever seen anyone move, period, and whips out his switchblade. His free hand reaches out to grab her, yank her upright, and push her behind him. 

The intruders, a man and a woman, are members of the White Gloves Society––and by the menacing manner in which they carry cattle prods, it's clear that they intend to hurt them. 

Courier takes after Boone, pulling out her own blade. She leans over slightly, from behind his shoulder to address the White Gloves. "Listen. We don't want to hurt y––"

She doesn't get to finish, as they both attack, swinging their prods with purpose. 

Boone dodges and lets a fist loose into the man's side. He grabs the woman by the collar of her dress and throws her down on the floor, just missing the puddle of blood. "Six, you're gonna have to take the lead here!"

She remembers, almost too late, that he isn't a melee fighter. She leaps into the fray, going for the woman first as she is pushing herself back up. Not wanting to stab someone while they're down, Courier grabs the woman's cattle prod, accidentally discarded when she fell, and gives her a good zap on the arm. The woman shudders and collapses, unconscious. When Courier turns around, she finds Boone wrestling with the man, trying desperately to keep the cattle prod away from him. 

Courier steps up and plants her boot into the man's side, pushing him into the wall. While he's distracted, Boone wrenches the prod from his grip and zaps him as well. 

Fight over, Courier and Boone each find something to lean on while they catch their breath. 

"Somebody doesn't like us snooping around," Boone says, tucking his switchblade back into his pocket. 

"Did you find anything on the body?" Courier asks. 

"A matchbook. Here." He offers it to her. 

She looks it over, then flips it open. Inside, a message is scrawled in slanted letters: _Sauna, 4 p.m._ She shows Boone. 

"What the fuck kind of espionage bullshit is this?" he says, shaking his head. "I guess we're going there, huh?"

"It's our only option."

"What time is it now?"

Courier checks her Pip-Boy. "Fifteen of."

"Let's get down there, then." He leads the way into the hallway, and she shuts the door on the grisly scene. 

They wait in the sauna, sweating profusely from the heat. Courier was afraid they might attract unwanted attention, as they're they only ones fully dressed, but she feels silly now, because no one is sober enough to realize. 

Two minutes until four, a White Glove enters the sauna. Boone tenses beside her, and she can't say she blames him. 

"You're not who I was expecting," the man says as he sits down across from them. 

"Yeah, that guy's dead," Courier replies, simply. "Who are you?"

"Shit. Name's Chauncey. And you?"

"I'm Courier Six, and this is Boone. What were you meeting the investigator for?"

Chauncey sighs. "The investigator––never caught his name––he had suspicions about Mortimer trying to revert the White Gloves Society back to their cannibalistic tendencies. And, well, he was right. The bride that went missing? She was going to be the first meal, only she was able to escape. No one's seen her."

Courier'a stomach flips. "And, Ted Gunderson?"

"Alive, for now. He's locked in the freezer down in the basement."

"Ah, hell," Boone says, wiping a drop of sweat from his cheek. "At least he's alive."

"Yeah..." Courier rubs at her temple, as if to improve the flow of her thought process. "So, how can I get into the basement without raising suspicion?"

"You can't. I don't know if there's a way to do this without someone getting hurt," Chauncey tells her with a one-shouldered shrug. 

"Shit."

"I can give you the freezer key, though," he says, withdrawing a key from his jacket pocket. He hands it over to her. "That's the best I can do. But, if you're going to try to save Ted, you have about two hours to do so. Dinner is at seven."

Courier swallows hard and nods. "Thank you."

Chauncey nods as he stands. "Good luck, Courier Six. You're going to need it." With that, he leaves the sauna. 

Boone looks over at Courier. "Well?"

"Well... Let's find Arcade and get him to make a plan for us."


	11. Chapter 11

They find Arcade propped up at the bar, three beers already under his belt and a fourth one on the way. Heck Gunderson is nowhere in sight.

Courier touches his arm, and he looks up at her with bleary eyes. "You're not gonna fucking believe this, Doc." She explains the fight and what they found out from the dead investigator's contact. Now, she needs help coming up with a plan to get Ted out of there without raising suspicion. "That's where you come in."

"Six, I'm riding a slippery slope here. If I drink any more, I may not be of any use at all." And then, Arcade takes another sip of his beer.

Courier grabs the bottle out of his hand and places it on the bar, out of his reach. "Bartender, a glass of water, please." She searches Arcade's flushed face, hoping to see a hint of sobriety there. "You need to sober up _right now_."

"You did this to me," he accuses, pointing a wavering finger at her.

Courier rolls her eyes and slaps his hand down. 

Boone snorts. 

The bartender slides her a glass of water, and she hands it to Arcade. "Drink up, pal. Need your help."

"So, my help wasn't enough?" Boone asks her.

"Arcade's the one who was bragging about how tactful he is," Courier says, watching as Arcade drains the glass. "Time to see his tact at work."

Arcade wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ahh. Refreshing."

"Good, good. Now, what do we do?"

He reaches under his glasses to rub his eyes. "You do realize that one cannot simply be sobered up by a glass of water, don't you?"

"Well, it helps, doesn't it?"

He sighs. "You said the contact gave you a key?" 

"For the freezer, yeah."

"Then, we go get Ted from the freezer."

"Duh. What about raising suspicion?"

"I'd like to avoid that, if possible."

Courier rolls her eyes. "No shit. I meant, won't we raise suspicion, since we're not White Gloves?"

Arcade places a finger against his temple and looks at her condescendingly. "Not if you have disguises, and you say you knocked out a man and woman in the investigator's room, right? Think logically, Six."

"Says the drunk," Boone mutters. 

Courier scowls at Arcade. "Even with disguises, I'm trying to sneak a whole person out, Arcade. If that doesn't raise suspicion, I don't know what else would."

Realization slowly filters across Arcade's face. "Oh."

"Yeah. ' _Oh_.'"

"How long do we have until dinner?"

Courier checks her Pip-Boy. "It's five-ten now. Dinner's at seven."

He sighs again. "'In' is easy. 'Out' is a bit more difficult. I can create a distraction to get you in. You may need to kill someone to get out."

Courier's jaw falls wide open. "I didn't expect to hear that from you."

"Yeah, well, not everything is sunshine and rainbows with me."

"Apparently not," Boone says. "Should we just... go down there now?"

"Seems like we must," Arcade says.

* * *

Courier sheds her clothes quickly, uncaring that both Boone and Arcade are present, and dons the unconscious woman's dress. She straps the mask to her face and holds out her arms. "How do I look?"

"Uncanny," Arcade says as he ties Boone's bowtie. "So does Boone."

"Well, this is only temporary." Boone takes off his sunglasses and hands them over to Arcade along with his and Courier's clothes. He rolls up his beret and stows it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "If you lose my clothes, you'll pay for it with your life, Gannon."

"Fear tactics don't work on me, but I'll be making a quick trip back to the Lucky Thirty-Eight to drop all this off while you two conduct your mission, anyway." Arcade looks over at Courier. "Oh, your Pip-Boy, Six. Too recognizable. I'll take that as well."

Courier hands over the clunky device reluctantly. "Please be careful with that. It's my most prized possession."

"What about your bat and your gloves?" Boone asks. Courier can't help but think about how naked he looks without his permanent accessories. 

"My third-most prized possession," she corrects. 

"Understood," Arcade says. "I'll go drop these off first. You two should make your way to the Gourmand in about ten minutes. I believe the employee elevator is behind the counter. When I come back, I'll begin the distraction."

"What're you planning to do?" 

"I'll figure it out. See you guys soon. And, please be careful, too."

* * *

Courier tugs at the hem of the dress, which barely brushes the tops of her knees, as they head for the Gourmand. 

Boone digs an elbow into her side. "Stop fidgeting."

"Listen, my guy. I feel weird as hell without any pants on."

"And you think I feel comfortable without my beret? Just stay calm. This will be over soon."

"I really fuckin' hope so." She rubs her naked wrist where her Pip-Boy is usually stationed. "I miss my Boy."

"Jesus Christ, Six."

"What? It feels so _weird_."

"Try not to think about it."

"Okay. I'm trying not to think about it... and it's not working."

He lets go of half a sigh before he stops himself. "Just suck it up and keep moving, alright?" 

"Fine."

Almost immediately after they get to the Gourmand, a woman's screech rings out, startling Courier. Marjorie abandons her desk and rushes over to the dining area to investigate the disturbance. Courier and Boone slip behind the desk and aim straight for the elevator. 

"What the hell did he do?" Courier wonders aloud as Boone taps the call button. 

"We'll find out later."

As they step into the elevator, the woman yells, "That _moron_ spilled his drink all over my dress!"

Arcade replies, loud and snarky as ever, "It looks like an improvement to me. I did you a favor."

Courier snickers as the doors close them into the small space. 

"Good thinking, Gannon," Boone says. "I just hope he doesn't get himself kicked out."

"According to him, he's a master tactician. He'll figure something out."

Boone nods in agreement, and then the remainder of the ride is silent. 

When they step out into the dank basement, Courier asks, "So, what do we do now?"

Boone scoffs. "I thought this was your operation."

"If it is, why are you here?"

"Before I answer, do you think you could've taken on those White Gloves by yourself?"

"If I'd had my bat, yeah. Almost definitely. Like, ninety-five percent sure."

"Since you don't have your bat," he says, "I'm here as backup in case things go south."

"Well, I appreciate that." She looks down the long hallway they've come into. "We need to find the kitchen, because I'm guessing that's where the freezer is."

"Good idea. Lead the way."

The hallway seems never-ending, but they come across the kitchen eventually. Within, a man in a black tuxedo flips through a yellow-paged cookbook. 

The man turns at the intrusion. "Can I help you?" he snaps at them. 

"Uh, we're here to get rid of the kid," Courier says, words falling out of her mouth before she has a chance to think them over. "Mortimer said it's too risky to keep him here."

"Did he have a replacement in mind?"

"Er..." She glances sideways at Boone. 

"Yeah," Boone says. "You."

Courier watches with intrigue as Boone lunges forward and wrestles the man into unconsciousness. She thought just a few moments ago that Boone would have just sliced the man's throat open, and then they would have booked it the hell out of here with Ted in tow. 

But, no. With the man merely unconscious, a whole new wave of options opens up for them. 

Courier toes the man's hand to see if he'll wake up. When he doesn't react, she kneels down and pats down his pockets. 

"What are you doing?" Boone asks her as he goes to the freezer to peer in through the window. 

"It's so fucking smelly down here," Courier says, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from the man's inner jacket pocket, "I thought he might have something to cover his face with." She opens up the paper and grazes over the words. "Why does he have a recipe for faux-human meat?"

Boone turns away from the freezer. "What? Did I just knock out the person who was going to expose Mortimer?"

"Probably. Is Ted in there?"

Boone stares at her. "Yeah. Hand me the key."

"Hold on," Courier says, examining the recipe. "We should make this. It looks pretty simple."

"You're joking, right? I don't get your humor sometimes."

"No, I'm serious."

"I'm going to need your reasoning."

"Okay, so, Mortimer is planning to reveal his plans over dinner, right? This stuff says it's going to look like human meat but won't taste like it. We prepare this, Mortimer reveals himself, and Ted walks out there alive. Boom. No more cannibalism."

"You think that'll work?"

She shrugs. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"

"I guess," he says, passing a hand over his hair. "But, what if it doesn't?"

"I'll just kill Mortimer. No big deal."

"Alright. What about Ted?"

"He can wait a little bit longer. We don't have much time to do this, so we better get started now."

"Right. Let me see the recipe."

Together, they go about gathering the ingredients. Luckily, none of them are in the freezer that Ted occupies. The cannibals must reserve that one for their special guests. 

"Hand me the flour," Courier says. "I don't think I put enough in."

Boone places the sack next to the giant, gray lump on the cutting board. "This looks like shit."

"Good thing you don't have to eat it." 

"I'm thankful for that as well."

Though it only took about ten minutes to prepare, the recipe has the unholy concoction bake in the oven for forty-five minutes. During that time, they bicker about where they should hide the chef, so the servers won't notice anything amiss when they come down to collect the food. They argue in hushed tones for fifteen minutes, and then they decide to just stuff him in the pantry. 

When Boone removes the mass of faux-meat from the oven, he slices it, and Courier plates it along with a mishmash of wasteland veggies she found in the pantry. 

They stand back and look at the twelve plates. 

"It's not the prettiest," Courier says, slowly, "but it should work. You should call the waiters down, since you sound more like him than I ever could."

With a huff, Boone steps up to the intercom and holds down the button. He pitches his voice slightly higher and much more snootier as he says, "Dinner is prepared."

"We'll be right down, Philippe," the voice on the other end says. 

"Where should we hide?" Boone asks, glancing around. 

"We could cuddle up next to Philippe."

"I'd rather not."

"Do you _want_ to get caught?"

It takes him a beat too long to answer. "You get in the middle, though."

In the next minute, Courier finds herself snuggled between Philippe and Boone, the latter of which isn't unpleasant. 

They listen for the telltale sound of footsteps. Dishes and serving trays clatter. And then, it goes quiet. 

Boone and Courier climb out of the tight space, leaving Philippe in there. Courier unlocks the freezer and opens the door. Ted rushes her, knocking her to the floor. Boone tackles Ted, slamming the guy into the kitchen island. 

"Easy," Boone grunts, locking Ted's wrists behind his back. "We're here to help you, dumbass."

"Who are you?" Ted grinds out, struggling against Boone's grip. 

"Your dad sent us," Courier says, picking herself up off the floor. "And if I wasn't here to rescue your sorry ass, I'd knock your fucking teeth out for pushing me down."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I––I was scared."

"So, you thought it was best to attack the first person to open the door? What the hell is wrong with you?" Boone says. "If I let you go, are you going to freak out again?"

"I'm good, I'm good," Ted insists, and Boone releases him. Ted straightens, rubbing his stomach where it hit the edge of the counter. "You said my dad sent you? Where is he?" 

"We're going to take you to him," Courier says as she adjusts the hem of her dress, "but it's a little more difficult than you might think."

"We snuck in here," Boone says, "so we have to sneak you out."

"How are you gonna do that? The White Pants Conjugation or whatever is all over the place, and I don't exactly blend in." Ted gesture to his plaid shirt and khaki pants. 

Boone and Courier look at him, then look at each other. 

"I have an idea," Courier says. 

A few minutes later, Ted is dressed in Philippe's suit, which is a size or two too small on him. When Boone points this out, Courier says, "Doesn't matter. No one'll notice if we're quick about this."

So, they come out the way they came––and enter the Gourmand just as Mortimer announces, "You're all eating human meat!"

Gasps and cries of horror rise from the dining area, and Courier grabs Ted by the arm and hurries him over there. 

"No, you're not!" Courier yells, almost in a mocking tone. "You would be, though, if this guy was dead. _Which_ , as you can see, he is not."

Curious murmurs rumble across the long table. 

Mortimer looks at Courier with a mixture of shock and severe anger. "How did you––?" He stops, taking in her attire. He puts the pieces together, and his face falls. 

"Thought you could kill me?" Courier laughs. "I'm Courier Six, bitch. I'm unstoppable, and this is Ted Gunderson, the _alive_ son of Heck Gunderson, Brahmin Baron. Mortimer had this guy kidnapped so you guys could eat him. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me, 'cause––in case you haven't noticed––the fuckin' _apocalypse_ happened, and we should be trying to help each other. Not––not _eat_ each other. Fuck's sake, Mortimer. We're not barbarians."

All eyes turn accusingly to Mortimer––and the bastard makes a run for it. Courier releases Ted's elbow, hikes up her dress, and bolts after him. 

"Six! Six, wait!"

Courier ignores Boone calls for her. Teeth bared, she pumps her legs as fast as she can. She catches up with Mortimer at the entrance to the casino. She slams into him as he pauses to open the door. "You're not getting away with this, you little creep!" 

"Help! Someone, help!" he yells, but no one makes a move. 

Boone catches up, then. He grabs Mortimer and throws him down to the floor. He presses the bottom of his boot to the back of Mortimer's neck. "This man is a cannibal. Someone call for the NCR."

The NCR act quickly and take Mortimer into custody. They'll deal with it however they see fit, and Courier is okay with that, so long as it involves his death. 

"Well, that was, ah, quite the show," Arcade says, ambling over to them from where he sat at the bar. His cheeks are flushed, his glasses slightly askew. He holds a glass of amber liquid, near-empty. "Shall we go back to the––the Lucky Thirty-Eight for a nightcap?"

"Are you drunk now?" Boone asks Arcade. 

"Mmm... yep."

"No nightcap."

"How much do we owe them?" Courier inquires, eyeing Arcade as he wobbles on his feet. 

"Mmm... a lot."

"Jesus Christ," Boone says. "I'll go settle up with the bartender. Six, keep an eye out for Heck."

Once Boone has gone, Courier turns to Arcade. "You alright?"

It takes Arcade a few moments too long to answer, "Yes."

"If you say so."

A few minutes later, the stetson makes an appearance with Heck Gunderson underneath it, while Ted lurks behind him. "Before y'all head out, I wanted to thank you for findin' my son. And I wanted to give you this." He holds out a leather pouch, half the size of Courier's knapsack and stuffed full of caps. Arcade accepts it before Courier can refuse. 

"Glad we could help," Arcade says, cradling the pouch in the crook of his arm like it's a baby. 

"And, I'll definitely be cutting off ties with the White Gloves, since they've done this to my boy. Bunch'a maniacs runnin' this joint."

Courier shakes her head. "It was just Mortimer. He thought if he could trick people into eating human flesh, they'd realize how much they like it, and they'd agree to turn back to the old ways. I don't think it would've worked, but yeah. Just him."

"You don't say."

"I say. Besides, people here pay top-dollar for quality brahmin meat. I've seen it before." She doesn't know why she lies, but she does it anyway. "It'd be a shame if you walked away now."

"Well..." Heck sighs. "Guess I won't, then."

"Good idea. Good luck, Mr. Gunderson."

"Same to you, Six. And thank you again." He and his son disappear into the crowd. 

"That... was an interesting turn of events," Arcade says, taking one step toward the door. His ankle turns, causing him to trip over his own feet. 

Boone reappears suddenly, beret back in its rightful place. He grabs Arcade by the arm before he can fall. He pulls one of the doctor's arms around his neck and wraps his free arm around Arcade's middle. He looks at Courier, his eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. "Take those caps from him before he flings them all over the damn place."

Courier takes the bag from Arcade, who frowns at Boone. 

"Are you saying I'm incapable of holding onto a few caps?" Arcade asks. 

"Right now? Yeah," Boone replies. "Six, can you get the door?"

"Got it." Courier pulls open the door, and the three of them step out into the warm night. They head down the street, aiming for the Lucky 38. "I never imagined Arcade getting drunk before. Gotta say: It ain't pretty, Doc."

"Well..." Arcade turns his face to look at Courier over his shoulder. He sighs, which results in blowing an alcohol-soaked breath directly into Boone's face. "It doesn't h... happen often."

"Oh, good _God_ ," Boone wheezes, releasing Arcade's wrist long enough to fan in front of his nose. "We're never letting you have alcohol again. And you're paying me back what I paid, times two."

"Duly noted, Mr. Boone."

Walking along behind them, Courier snickers into the palm of her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a rough time writing this chapter, and i'm sure it isn't perfect, but it'll do! (may or may not edit in the future)


	12. Chapter 12

Close to three o'clock in the morning, Courier lies in her king-sized bed, stripped down to her underwear. The air-conditioning feels both good and bad as it washes over he from the vent in the corner of the ceiling. She tosses a dirty baseball found in one of the rooms high into the air and catching it. The same question ricochets around her head. 

_Is the White Gloves Society worth saving?_

The ball slaps into her palm, and she stops. What is she thinking? They're _people_. People who had a shitty manager, but people nonetheless. Of course they're worth saving. She rushes out to the foyer to inform Yes Man. 

She runs right into Veronica. Courier reaches out to steady her. "Oh, shit. Didn't see ya there. You okay?"

"Is your foot made of lead?" Veronica asks, standing on one leg and rubbing the other foot between both her hands. "Think you broke my damn toe, Six."

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I'll go get Arcade to take a look at it." She turns to the elevator. 

"I'm being facetious, Six. What are you doing up so late? And why are you half-naked?"

Courier turns back and notices that Veronica still wears her robe. "I was thinking about what happened at the Ultra-Luxe last night. I decided to keep them."

Veronica plants her foot on the floor. "Really? That's good news. And, you're half-naked because...?"

"Well, why are _you_ up so late?"

"I was just going to get a drink of water from the kitchen."

"Oh. Makes sense. But, um, to answer your question: I'm half-naked because I like to sleep half-naked." Again, Courier's eyes drag down the length of the robe. "Do you wear that thing to bed?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Veronica shrugs. "If I'm cold or not. And, it's kinda chilly in here."

"Oh. Well, don't let me keep you from your water. I just came out here to talk to Yes Man."

Veronica glances at the Securitrons framing the elevator, then makes her way past them to the kitchen. 

Courier turns to Yes Man and opens her mouth. 

He speaks first, saying, "So, you made a decision about the White Gloves? That's great!"

"Yeah. Turns out, the cannibal rumor was true, but it was just one guy, and he's gone now. So, I decided they're okay to keep around."

"Cannibals? Well, I'm glad you weren't eaten."

"Me, too. So, who's next on the list?" 

"Well, the next closest would be the Omertas at the Gomorrah casino across the street." 

Courier doesn't relish the thought of navigating more drama inside another casino. "Who else is there?"

"Well, there are the Great Khans out in Red Rock Canyon. Oh, and the Boomers up at Nellis Air Force Base––but nobody has ever been in or out of there, so that might be a little difficult. Hmm... Oh! And the Brotherhood of Steel. I'm not sure where they're located, but Veronica most likely does, since she's one of them."

Courier sighs and rubs her eyes. This is too much for her to decide right now. "You know what? I think I've made enough decisions tonight. I'm gonna sit on it for a while."

"Okey-dokey. Just let me know when you want to continue!"

She nods, thanks him, and goes back to bed.

* * *

Arcade angles his face into his mug of coffee, full to the brim, and inhales deeply. When he lifts his head, Courier notices the dark, heavy circles under his eyes and the semi-disgusted set of his mouth. 

"What's the matter? Does your head hurt?" she asks, idly swirling her own coffee. Black, how she likes it. "I imagine it does, since you drank half your weight in beer last night. Oh, and don't forget to pay Boone back for that."

He grumbles something unintelligible before dipping his head again and taking a sip off the top of the coffee. 

Courier smiles, lifting her mug to her mouth. 

Veronica trundles into the kitchen, then, and makes a beeline for the coffee pot. 

"Morning," Courier says. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah." Veronica dumps several tablespoons of agave nectar––purchased specifically for her and Arcade, as Courier and Boone enjoy the bitterness of black coffee––into her mug and stirs. "You?"

"Uh, well... it could have been better, honestly. I was up half the night, trying to decide what to do next."

Veronica moves to take a seat next to Arcade. When Courier gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, Veronica sits with one chair between her and Arcade. "What are our options?"

Courier relays the options given to her by Yes Man and finishes by saying, "What do you think?"

"You..." Veronica blinks a few times as if to clear a haze. "You're going to judge the Brotherhood?"

An anxious knot begins to form in Courier's stomach. "According to Yes Man, I have to."

Veronica grips her spoon a little too hard, her knuckles turning white. "You're going to judge my people––a right you don't even _have_."

"I––"

"And what if you find that you don't like them?"

Courier knows she's treading on a thin line here. She chooses her next words carefully. "If they're anything like you, I'm sure I'll like them."

Veronica stands, startling Arcade into sudden awareness. "I can't believe you right now."

Courier flounders, unsure of what she said to set her off. 

"I'm sure Six didn't mean any harm, Veronica," Arcade says. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Veronica remains motionless, glaring at Courier. A few tense moments drag by, and then Veronica sits back down, folding her arms over her stomach. "I don't like this."

"Okay. Okay." Courier's mind races for a solution. "I'll just skip them for now. We can talk about it later. We'll go see the Omertas first."

Veronica doesn't say anything. 

Arcade's gaze darts between the two women. "When would you like to head to the Gomorrah, Six?"

Courier shrugs, unable to think about that just now. "I think I'll take a road trip before I go there. Clear my head a little so I don't do anything stupid."

Veronica snorts but still says nothing. 

"Okay... Guess you don't want to come with me, then."

"What clued you in?"

"Uh..." Arcade's spoon tinkles as he stirs his coffee. "Maybe... we shouldn't be fighting."

"No one's fighting," Courier insists. 

"Not yet, anyway," Veronica says. 

Courier scowls for half a second before she forces her expression to even out. "Alright. I'm sorry I upset you, but he's right. We're supposed to be a team. We shouldn't be arguing."

"Are members of your team supposed to decide if your family gets to live or die?"

"Jesus Christ, man. That's not––That isn't what I'm doing."

"Oh, yeah? And if the White Gloves hadn't passed whatever test you gave them, what would have happened? You would've evicted them and sent them on their way? Nice try, Six, but I know that's not your style. You told me so yourself. _Boom_ , right?"

Courier swallows hard, regretting every decision and word that led her to this moment. "Then, I'll make a promise to you. I won't have any harm come to the Brotherhood, no matter what."

Veronica scoffs. 

"Do you really think I'd kill your family? We're friends. At least, I thought we were."

Veronica stares at Courier––and then she gets up and leaves, taking her mug with her. The room is silent for much too long. In that span of time, Rex ambles in and laps at his water bowl. Courier watches him, frowning. 

Then, Arcade inquires, "Where were you planning to go?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Courier admits, "but Rex just reminded me. I'm supposed to go up to Jacobstown to get him some help."

"That's up in the mountains. Could be dangerous."

She pushes back from the table and stands. "Yeah, well, I've grown pretty fond of him, and it'd kill me if something happened to him. C'mere, Rex."

Rex lifts his head and looks at her before abandoning his bowl.

She scratches behind one of his ears, and his tail begins to wag. "He's such a sweetheart."

"Eh. When are we leaving?"

Courier looks at him. "What?"

"I thought I'd come with you...?"

"Uh, sure."

"I mean, if I'm not wanted––"

"Shut up, Arcade," Courier chuckles. She stops short. "I'd ask Veronica to go, but I don't think she'd want to."

"I'll talk to her later."

"Oh, you don't have to." Courier worries it might further agitate Veronica, but perhaps she should trust Arcade on this. What's the worst that could happen? Veronica would leave after a possible assassination attempt on Courier, but that's neither here nor there. 

"I know." Arcade looks past her. "Good morning."

Courier turns as Boone walks in, already fully dressed in his usual clothing. He marches for the coffee maker. 

"Morning," Boone says. He glances at Courier. "Morning, Six."

"Morning," she says. 

"About last night––," Arcade begins. 

Boone holds up a hand as the other hand pours coffee. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"It's fine, Gannon, really." Boone turns away from the counter, mug in hand. "Did you decide on the White Gloves Society, Six?"

"Oh, that?" Courier flaps her wrist. "They'll stay."

"What's next, then?"

Arcade's eyes meet Courier's, his eyebrows raised over the rims of his glasses. 

Courier ignores him. "We're going to Jacobstown to get Rex some help."

"Huh. Okay. Cazadores up there, you know."

"C-cazadores?"

"Oh, no," Arcade says.

"Yeah. You never been up in the mountains before?"

"I don't know," Courier replies. 

Boone pauses with his bottom lip pressed against the rim of his mug. "Ah. Sorry."

Courier shrugs. "Anyways, we're gonna head out the day after tomorrow, so rest up."

"Gotcha. Who all is coming?"

"I'm coming," Arcade says. 

"And Veronica?"

"I'll get back to you on that. Speaking of which..." Arcade slurps down the rest of his coffee and stands. "I'll go talk to her about that now."

Once Arcade has gone, Boone asks, "Why does he need to talk to her?"

"Oh, that's right. You missed the show," she says. 

"What'd you do?"

Courier bristles. "I didn't do anything! I just mentioned that the Brotherhood of Steel is one of the tribes I have to judge, and she got upset. Can hardly blame her, but what am I supposed to do? Lie to her? Wouldn't that make it worse?"

"You got a point there. Probably best that you were honest."

"See? I knew I was right."

"Hm. Well, you know what's in Jacobstown, right?"

"Cazador queen?"

He scoffs. "Even better: super mutants and nightkin."

" _Hah_?!"

"Oh, good." The tiniest of smiles pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Glad to see you remember what those are."

"You're joking."

"Do I joke? Doesn't seem like something I'd do."

"Okay, you're right about that, but... nightkin?"

"They're friendly enough––as long as you don't look at them for too long."

"Jesus. Okay." Courier shakes her head. "Well, it'll be fine if we're all going together, right?"

"And if you don't look at a nightkin for too long, then yeah."

"Not funny."

The smile widens infinitesimally, which causes Courier to smile broadly.

He takes a sip of his coffee. When he lowers his mug, the smile is gone. "So, since we're not leaving for a while, what did you want to do in the meantime?"

Courier shrugs. "Could gamble. Have sex with some of the strippers hanging around outside of the Gomorrah. Have sex with the King. Have sex with––"

Boone cuts a hand across the air in front of him to silence her. "Do most of your plans revolve around having sex?"

"Ya."

"Count me out."

"Really? Could be fun."

"Wait. Did you mean––?" He shakes his head. "Never mind."

She leans forward, eyebrows raised. "No. Finish the thought."

"There wasn't a thought to finish."

"Yes, there was."

He sighs. "If you won't let it go, fine. I was going to say, 'Did you mean you and I having sex together?' but it would've come out wrong."

Courier's spine tingles with an unexpected thrill. "Something wrong with that?"

"Um..."

At that moment, he is saved by Arcade returning and plopping back down into his seat. 

"She agreed to come," he announces, "on one condition."

Courier stares at Boone, but he ignores her.

"And that is?" Boone inquires.

"That Six doesn't speak to her until she speaks to Six first. Is this something you can agree to, Six?"

Courier's mouth opens and closes repeatedly, but nothing comes out. Her first reaction is to be offended, but can she really blame Veronica?

The men watch her for a minute until she nods. 

"Fine," she says. "That's fine. I just want to make amends with her, any way I can."

"Then, it's best to leave her alone for now," Arcade says. "Do you think you can manage?"

"Yeah? I'm not an idiot. I can control myself."

The men share a look that annoys Courier. 

"You're doubtful," she says, scowling. 

"Well, you're a talkative person," Boone says. "Sometimes a little _too_ talkative."

"Then, consider this a lesson for me in how to shut the fuck up. I'll ace it."


	13. Chapter 13

ED-E carries all their supplies for them up the mountain. The freedom comes in handy when Courier has to run in and bash a cazador to the ground with only her bat and her insatiable desire to _live_.

Between two swings at the pulp of the cazador, Arcade exclaims, "My goodness, Six!"

One of the wings twitches. She swings down in a sharp arc, putting a definite end to the creature's life. She throws the bat over her shoulder and looks at the doctor as he and the others catch up with her. "What? It was it or us."

"It surprised me, is all."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry." 

"It's fine, it's fine." 

"I could've shot that for you," Boone tells her as they continue up the road. 

"Yeah, well, I figured you could save your ammo," Courier tells him. 

"You panicked, didn't you," Veronica says. 

"Maybe."

At the front of the group, Boone suddenly halts. 

Veronica bumps into the back of him. "What the––?"

"Bighorners," he says, nodding up the road. 

Courier squints, and it takes her a few moments to spot them, as they're pretty far away. Three of them graze the brownish grass off the side of the road. Not for the first time, Courier is glad for her former First Recon companion. "Okay, you saw those from half a mile away, but you didn't see the cazador?"

"I _did_ see the cazador," Boone informs her. "But, it was out of the way, so I didn't think it was necessary to point it out."

"Are you kidding––?"

"Enough bickering," Arcade interrupts. "Best to steer clear of the bighorners. They can be quite territorial."

Boone leads the way as they make a wide detour around the two large animals. "Good thing we're almost there." He points up the road. 

Again, Courier has to squint to see what he's pointing at. When they get a little closer, Courier sees the edge of the town, surrounded by a tall wall of sharpened logs. Guarding either side of the gap in the wall are super mutants. She gets a hitch in her step at the sight of them but ultimately continues on. They have already come all this way; there's no turning back now. 

At the sight of the group of humans ambling up the road, the mutants shuffle together to block off the entrance. 

"Halt there," one of them says. "NCR not allowed."

Courier nudges Boone aside and takes his place at the front of the group. Before she can get a word out, another super mutant––though this one is actually fully-clothed––appears behind them. 

He parts the guards with a touch of their shoulders. "Name's Marcus. What can I do for you folks?"

"Um, hi. I'm Courier Six, and I'm looking for a doctor that's supposed to live here," Courier says, "but your guards won't let us in."

Marcus glances over her group, and his eyes land on Boone. "Ah. I see why. Your friend is NCR."

"Was," Boone corrects. 

"You wear that beret."

"It's a token to remind me why I'll never go back."

Marcus smiles. "If that's the case, then you're all welcome here. Free to walk around as you like––though I'd hide the beret if I were you. Folks around here don't take too kindly to NCR."

"Why's that?" Courier inquires as Boone removes his beret. He tucks it into his pocket and keeps his hand in the pocket with it. 

"We've been having trouble with some NCR riffraff harassing our town." Marcus sighs, shakes his head. "I started this place to try to rehabilitate schizophrenic nightkin. It makes the craziness worse when people stare at them."

"Oh. Well, I'll keep my head down. We all will."

"I appreciate that. Doc Henry's in the lodge." Marcus points at the building behind him with his thumb. "Should be in his lab on the first floor. Just enter the lodge and take the first right. And don't look directly at the nightkin if you can help it."

"Thank you, Marcus."

The gang moves through the entrance, past the guards that give Boone a dirty look, and head for the lodge. On their right is a small pond that gets the geiger counter on Courier's Pip-Boy clicking agitatedly. Wordlessly, they move away from it. To the left of the lodge are a couple of fenced-in bighorners, being hand-fed by a nightkin in a flowery outfit and hat. 

Courier averts her gaze, supposing that isn't the strangest thing she has ever seen and knowing she will see stranger eventually. 

"If you guys don't mind," Arcade says, and everyone pauses to look at him, "I'll wait out here."

"Why?" Courier asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"The weather is nice, and I have a feeling we won't be here much longer. I'd just like to enjoy it, if that's okay with you."

"Uh, yeah, sure. See you in a bit."

Inside the lodge, the hairs in the back of Courier's neck stick straight up at the _sound_ the nightkin make. It sounds like seething shadows, and it strikes her with a primal fear. She clenches her fists at her side and follows Marcus's instructions. 

They come across a ghoul in a lab coat first, sitting behind a desk with an ancient computer terminal sat upon it. 

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asks without looking up from a file laid out on the desktop. 

"We're looking for Dr. Henry," Courier says. "Is he in?"

"He's in the little boys room. Something I can help you with?"

"Can you help my cyberdog? I think he's sick."

" _Cyberdog_?" She finally looks up, then looks down at Rex, whose tail starts wagging lazily. "No. But, Doc might. He should be back in about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes to use the bathroom?" Boone says. 

"Like you never took fifteen minutes before. Have a seat while you wait." She gestures to the ratty sofa against the wall, near the doorway they entered through. "I'm Calamity, by the way."

Courier makes the introductions as they sit, with Boone separating Courier and Beronica. ED-E hovers over Courier's shoulder, and Rex flops down on the wooden floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

The room is silent, save for the occasional scratching of Calamity's pen or the clicking of her gnarled hands in the terminal's keyboard. 

Finally, about twenty minutes later, an old man walks into the lab, rubbing a hand towel over his hands. He freezes just after passing by them, and then turns slowly. "Oh, I didn't know we have guests."

Keeping her eyes on her file, Calamity says, "Doc, we have guests."

"Right," he says, casting her an annoyed look. "I'm Dr. Henry. What can I do for you?"

Courier stands, her companions soon to follow––except for Rex. "I'm Courier Six. Um, this is Rex." She points at the dog at her feet. "We heard you might be able to help him."

"A cyberdog? Hmm. Been a while since I've seen one of them." Doc Henry tucks the hand towel into his back pocket and crouches by Rex's head. Rex lifts his head to sniff the doctor's hand. "At first glance, it looks like his brain's gone bad."

"His... brain? Bad? What? How can it be bad? He's a good boy."

"Six, you're babbling," Boone says. 

Courier shakes her head. "Okay, so, what do we do?"

"You can find him a new brain," Doc Henry tells her. "But, I would choose wisely. Though his memories will remain, he may take on some traits of the donor's."

"Great. Where can we find a dog brain that's suitable for our dear Rex?"

He gives her a funny look. "Dogs all over the Mojave, girl. Find you one, kill it, bring the brain back to me. Ain't that hard."

Courier's lips purse as she looks him up and down. She does not appreciate being spoken to that way. "Thanks, _Doc_. Big help. We'll come back with a brain, then." She turns and marches out to the lobby. The quickest one to follow her is Rex. 

"Six, wait up!" Boone calls out to her as she heads for the exit. 

She doesn't wait. With Rex at her heels, she throws open the door, makes sure he's outside, and then slams the door shut. She gulps down the cooler mountain air to calm herself and keeps walking, heading for the road back down the mountain. She passes Arcade, who leans against the Jacobstown sign, smoking a cigarette. 

"Six?" he says, probably surprised to see her so soon. "What's going on?"

"We're leaving."

"We just got here. What about Rex?"

"We're leaving. I'll explain later."

She stops at the gate. Marcus and the guards stand just outside the town, staring down a large group of NCR mercenaries. The NCR taunt the super mutants by throwing trash at them. The super mutants remain still. 

Spurred by Doc Henry's condescending tone, she stomps forward, placing herself in front of the super mutants. She fists her hands on her hips and shouts, "Leave them alone!"

"Yeah?" One of them, a muscular fellow with an assault rifle strapped to his back, steps forward. "What's a broad like you gonna do about it?"

A spark of anger flickers in Courier's chest. "I'll choke you out, my guy."

He laughs, and his comrades join in. "Is that so? Come over here and try it, bitch. We'll give you something to choke on." His buddies find that hilarious. One of them even pats him on the back. 

Courier's upper lip curls in disgust. "Get out, or things are going to get ugly."

The leader points at Marcus. "They already are."

The spark ignites. She reaches for her bat.

A hand lays on her shoulder. "Six," Boone says, "it's not worth it. If you start anything with them, the town will be the ones who suffer."

"He's right," Veronica says. "We're kinda outnumbered, too. Don't do anything stupid."

Courier's fingers flex on the grip of her bat, but she doesn't say anything. She stares at the leader, memorizing his face. He's next on her list to kill, right under Benny. 

Since Courier is frozen with rage, Boone takes the lead. "Get out of here. If I catch you here again, I'll kill you."

The mercenaries brush him off, but they go, filtering into the woods and out of sight. 

"Thank you for not letting it get messy," Marcus says to Boone. 

"Yeah." Boone looks at Courier. "Six, let's go."

* * *

Courier lies on her back in the dirt, staring at the expanse of stars spread out above her. It has been a few hours since they left Jacobstown, and they are only halfway to New Vegas. Boone suggested making camp at the base of the mountain to decide what to do next. 

She is still bothered by Dr. Henry and the NCR fuckos. There are many things she will not tolerate, and sexism is at the very top of the list. 

Veronica's hooded head appears over Courier's. "Hey."

Courier jumps. She hadn't been paying attention to the heavy footsteps coming up behind her. "Hey."

"Um, I just wanted to tell you, you did the right thing back there," she says. "I mean, by not fighting those losers."

"Right. Thanks," Courier says. "I'll admit: It was _really_ hard not to run over and crack some skulls open."

"I bet. But, I think Marcus appreciated that you didn't. Do you mind if I sit?"

"Oh, uh, sure." Courier sits up and Veronica sits down next to her. 

"I also wanted to tell you I'm sorry I got so mad at you before," Veronica says. "I know you're not the one who came up with the idea, but it bothered me that you took it upon yourself to judge my people."

"I'm sorry," Courier says. "I'll––I won't judge them. I'll just skip them."

"You know what? Things have been pretty... not that good at home. If you help us, then I'll forgive you."

"I can do that. Whatever it is, I'll try my best." Courier lies back, her head resting on her knapsack. "I'll be honest with you, though. I don't see myself getting rid of anybody. The only people I really want to put down are the Legion."

The side of Veronica's mouth draws up in a smile. "Good choice."

"I think so, too. And so does Boone. One day, I'm gonna take him to their encampment and just unleash him on them. None of those assholes would survive."

"Well, when that day comes, count me in."

Courier looks up at Veronica. "Are we cool again?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Veronica offers her hand, and Courier shakes it.

* * *

Courier is woken in the night by a muffled gunshot a good distance away. Rex stirs, lifting his head from its resting place on her shins. Her hand shoots out and clasps her bat before her eyes even open. 

When she sits up, she finds Boone also awake, the butt of his rifle pressed into his shoulder. He stares into the scope, facing southwest. 

"Boone," she whispers, crawling over to him, "what's––?"

He holds up a hand to halt her. "Fiends," he whispers back. "Half a mile southwest and heading this way. We have to go. Now. Wake the others. I'll keep an eye on the Fiends."

Courier does as he says, waking Arcade and Veronica. In a hushed tone, she explains the situation as she knows it: "Fiends are coming to fucking murder us. Get your asses up and follow Boone."

They roll up their sleeping bags as quickly as they can, and then run like hell toward New Vegas. 

They only stop when Arcade calls out, "If I run any longer, I'm going to fall over and die!"

"Stop, stop!" Courier slows her progress, allowing Arcade to catch up. "You alright?"

Arcade braces his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. "I'm just not used to this much cardio exercise." 

"He's being dramatic," Boone says, eyeing the direction from which they ran through his scope. "They're following us. Keep going, or you'll _actually_ die."

"We just have to make it another mile to New Vegas," Courier says, handing Arcade her canteen. "No way Fiends can get inside without getting vaporized by the Securitrons."

Arcade straightens, still breathing hard. He drinks heavily from her water supply and gives it back. "Okay. Okay. Let's go."

They continue on. This time, they don't stop until they hit North Vegas Square, the ramshackle section of the city. 

Courier leans her arm against the building they stopped by. "Jesus fuck, that was awful."

Arcade slides down the brick wall, apparently uncaring that he just messed up the back of his coat. "Seconded."

"Are we safe here?" Veronica asks. Her face, shiny with sweat, turns to Boone. 

"Safer inside the city," Boone says. He looks down at Arcade. "Come on. Get up."

Arcade groans loudly, drawing the attention of some of the local residents smoking cigarettes on the stoop of the building. 

"Y'all doin' okay over there?" one of them ventures. 

"Fine," Boone snaps without looking at them. "Gannon. Now."

"You sure? Sounds like y'all––"

"I said we're fine. _Gannon_."

"You don't get to boss me around, Boone," Arcade says, wiping at his grit-covered face with a grit-covered hand. "Only Six can do that."

"What? I can?" Courier puts her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Gannon," Boone says, sternly––and then his mouth turns down in a frown. "Here." He offers Arcade his hand and helps the doctor to his feet. "We're almost there."

Courier looks on with her mouth ajar. This is the softest she has ever seen Boone act. 

Boone looks at her briefly. The corner of his mouth twitches. Then, he looks toward the bright lights of the Lucky 38. "Let's go."

They take a slower pace back to the Lucky 38. There, they go their separate ways to get cleaned up and go to bed. 

A couple of hours later, when the sun rises, Courier rolls out of bed, struggles into a clean pair of jeans, and hauls herself to the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee. Her muscles hurt from the stress of running for her life. 

Boone is already there, coffee made. He eats some kind of charred brown meat. "Morning."

"Morning." She pours herself a cup of joe and sits down across from him. She throws her socked feet onto the edge of the table and crosses her ankles. "Are you as sore as I am?"

"Meh."

She stares at him while he eats. When she can see him start to get annoyed, she says, "What happened with Arcade last night?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You got real nice, real sudden."

He sets down his fork and looks at her from behind his shades. "Maybe I'm changing as a person."

"Yeah, okay," she scoffs, and sips her coffee. 

"I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him without being nicer, so I changed my tone. Basic people skills."

"I can honestly say that I did not know you had any people skills, Boone."

He shrugs. "I'm not as stone-cold as you might think."

"Really? Is there a warmer side to Craig Boone that we have only scratched the surface of?"

"Maybe."

Courier smiles and sips her coffee some more. "Can't wait to find out."


	14. Chapter 14

"This may sound like a weird question," Courier says to the unsuspecting bartender of the Big Horn Saloon in Boulder City, "but do you know where I can find a fresh dog brain? It's for my cyberdog."

The woman stares at Courier for a very long time before saying, "What."

"Dog brain. Need one. Where can I get one?"

"Fuck's the matter with you?" she spits at Courier. "Get the hell outta my face, chick."

"Bah!" Courier throws her hands up in exasperation. "Thanks for nothing, lady." She turns away from the bar and stalks back to Boone, ED-E, and Rex at the table in the corner. He sips off a glass of warm whiskey. She falls into the seat next to his and leans over to pat Rex's side. 

"I was going to ask how it went, but it looks like it didn't go very well," Boone says, swirling the golden liquid in his glass. 

"How'd you guess?" 

"The look on your face isn't one I'd expect from good news." 

"Wow. You read me so well."

"Your face isn't that hard for me to read." He passes the glass to Courier, who throws back the rest of the whiskey. "Where do you want to go next?" 

"I guess we'll head south. Bound to be sacrifice-able dogs somewhere, right?" 

"Bound to be," he agrees with a nod. "Ready to hit the road?"

"Yep."

The quartet sets out, heading toward Novac. When they draw close to the town, Boone stops. 

Sensing his unease, she assures him, "We're not going there. We'll go around."

"If you say so," he says, and they continue on. 

They travel the road a while longer, passing by the junkyard they'd passed a few months ago, when they had first met. 

Courier pauses when she sees the pack of dogs roaming the yard. "Should we stop in and ask?"

"Risky. We don't know who lives there."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, we could die, Six."

"Eh. I trust you to make sure that doesn't happen. Let's try."

"Jesus Christ." But, he follows her anyway. 

An older woman sits in a rocking chair just outside the entrance of the garage, sipping at a can of purified water. She looks up as they approach—and shrieks, dropping her water into the dust. 

Courier jumps back. "Christ! What the hell?!"

"Jordan!" the woman shouts, rushing to hug Courier. She throws her arms around Courier's neck and begins to cry. "Oh, Jordan. It's been so long."

Stunned, Courier lets it happen, but she stares wide-eyed at Boone. "Sorry. Do I know you?"

The woman, eyes full of tears, pulls back. "Jordan, it's me. It's your Gran."

"What?" Courier's eyes lose focus as she realizes what's happening. "Gran...?"

"Jesus Christ," Boone says again. 

"Y-you don't recognize me?" the woman asks. 

"N-no... I'm sorry. I got shot in the head a few months ago. Can't remember anything about myself."

The woman's hand flies to her mouth. "What did you say?"

"I got..." Courier trails off and finds herself searching for similarities between herself and the woman. They sort of have the same nose—

"Amnesia," Boone supplies. "We found out her name a couple months ago, but we couldn't find out where she was from or who who her family was. She calls herself Courier Six now, since that was what was on the delivery order she had in her bag when she woke up."

The woman— _Gran?_ —looks back to Courier. "Well... I'm..." She clears her throat. "I'm your grandmother, honey. I haven't seen you in over a year. I knew you'd been up in New Vegas with that _boy_ , but there wasn't anything I could say to you..." She stops to wipe tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just so glad to see you, Jordan."

"How...? How are you my...?" Courier can't form a coherent thought. She peddles backward, overloaded. "I—I have to go." 

"Six—," Boone starts. 

"I can't..." Embarrassingly, Courier blinks through tears of her own. "I can't deal with this right now."

The woman bites her lip but says nothing. 

Courier looks up at Boone. "Ask her about the thing for Rex. I can't."

Boone nods, and Courier leaves them alone. She goes to the end of the junkyard and leans against the fence, watching them surreptitiously from the corner of her eye. 

For months, Courier has been sure of herself, despite finding out she had been in a long-term relationship with that idiot, Pacer. She knew who she was, because it didn't matter who she had been before. She had been the one to decide who she was. Looking at the grandmother she didn't know she had, seeing the similarities between them—it has become very real. 

Courier Six is Jordan Shesco. Courier Six is someone's granddaughter. Courier Six is someone's _daughter_. 

Courier Six is not Courier Six. 

After a few minutes, Boone and ED-E go into the garage with the woman and one of the dogs from the yard. They're in there for a long time. Courier glances at her Pip-Boy every few minutes, and eventually, an hour passes. She sits down on the ground next to Rex and rests her chin on her knees. 

If that woman is her grandmother, she can't help but wonder now who her parents are. 

Boone and ED-E exit the garage. Boone shakes the woman's hand, says a few words. The woman casts Courier a longing look before going back inside. 

Boone joins Courier, leaning a shoulder against the fence. The chain-links bow inward slightly. "We got a brain."

Courier stares at her dusty boots. "Cool."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh, yup."

"Doesn't look like it. Easy to read, remember?"

Courier glares up at him. "Fuck off."

He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. This is... a lot. I know."

She drops her glare back to her boots. 

Boone lets the silence linger between them. Then, he says, "We should probably get moving before the brain goes bad."

Without a word, Courier gets to her feet and starts marching northeast, toward Jacobstown.

* * *

The few days of travel is the quietest Courier has had so far—even counting the week or so after meeting Boone, where she would talk at him and he would barely acknowledge her. 

They bring the brain to Doc Henry, but Courier waits outside the lodge. She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want to deal with him. She has too much on her mind at the moment. 

Upon her request, Boone stays with Rex during the surgery. Also upon her request, he holds the dog's paw the entire time. 

The surgery lasts four hours. 

Courier is fast asleep under a tree by the bighorner pen when Boone comes out of the lodge. He wakes her with a light shake of her shoulder. 

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet. 

She blinks slowly. "Hey. How's Rex?"

"He's asleep. Doc said the brain looks good. He just has to rest for a few days before we can take him back to the King."

"Awesome," she murmurs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Did you hold his paw like I asked?"

He sighs, but a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. "I did."

She lies back against her knapsack, relieved. "Thank you."

He makes himself comfortable next to her, leaning back on his elbows. "No problem."

"No, really. Thank you. It means a lot to me."

"You really care about Rex, don't you?"

"He's such a good dog."

"Yeah, he's not too bad."

Courier reaches over and punches him in the arm. "Take that back. He's the best. Better than you, even."

He rubs the spot she hit. "Everyone's better than me, Six. Trust me."

"Do you really think that?"

"Why would I say it if I didn't think it?"

"I don't know. People say things they don't mean sometimes."

"You do that?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Me."

Courier scoffs and rolls onto her side. The coarse grass under her pokes her skin through her thin shirt. "Do you think you're a bad person or something?"

He shrugs. "I've killed a lot of people."

"So have I—probably. Am _I_ a bad person?"

He turns his face to her, his lips pursed slightly. It takes much too long for him to answer. "I don't think so. You're one of the best people I've ever met—probably."

Courier's heart begins to race. Before she has a chance to think it over, she darts in and plants a firm kiss on his lips. It lasts only a moment, because she pulls away and rolls onto her back to stare at the sky through the scraggly branches of the pine they lie under.

What the fuck did she just do?

Boone clears his throat. She risks a glance at him, but the damn sunglasses hide everything. 

"Sorry," she says, and then bites her lips.

"It's... okay. Are you starved for compliments? Should I compliment you more often?"

"Only if you want to get kissed again."

"I'll consider it."

Courier looks at him, her eyebrows shooting halfway to her hairline. "If you want to get kissed, all you have to do is ask."

"I will never do that."

"Fine, but you're missing out."

"Based on what just happened, I disagree."

"Ouch."

He laughs. This is the first time Courier has heard him laugh out loud. She likes the sound of it. 

"Well," he says, "you might just need more practice. Luckily, we'll be seeing the King in a few days, so you can get all that out of your system."

 _Oh_. 

She blinks at the tree branches. She didn't know what she expected, but it certainly wasn't that. Maybe they would have been using an empty room in the lodge for less-than-innocent purposes after the kiss. Instead, Courier feels the hot-and-cold sting of rejection flooding her veins. 

"Right, yeah," she says, even as she wants to run away and never look at him again. "Good idea."

"Well...," he says again, "that's if that didn't mean anything. You were just happy that I complimented you, right?"

She debates on whether or not she should tell the truth. She decides to lie: "Yeah. It was just just a reaction. Sorry again."

"It's okay. It surprised me, is all."

"Won't happen again," she says, fingering a hole near the hem of her T-shirt. "I promise."

* * *

Rex wobbles on his feet toward Courier, who kneels with a handful of red meat of a bighorner calf Boone hunted down for her. Rex sniffs at the meat before cautiously taking a small chunk and chewing it slowly. 

She sits down, pressing her back up against the side of a metal cabinet. Across the room, Doc Henry and Calamity speak quietly to each other. Courier suspects they are discussing how to demand payment for Rex's surgery. She intends to pay them, of course, but only if she can get some caps from the King first. 

Rex lowers himself to his belly as he eats, and Courier sets the meat on the floor before him. She hugs her knees to her chest as she watches him. 

She feels like a fool after kissing Boone. She wonders what part of her even did that. 

She is attracted to him; there is no doubt about that. But, she had hoped if anything happened between them, it would be initiated by him. That way, she would know for sure he was interested. She shouldn't have kissed him like that, without asking. She didn't even take a moment to gauge his reaction first. 

She squeezes her eyes shut as hard as she can. _Foolish_. 

"Excuse me, Miss Six," Calamity speaks up, and Courier opens her eyes. "There is the matter of payment we have to discuss."

"How much?" she asks, opening her eyes. 

"Ten thousand caps seems about right."

"What?"

"We could give him back his old brain, if that doesn't fit your budget."

Courier scoffs. "Fuckin' kidding me?"

"Not at all," Doc Henry says. 

Courier closes her eyes again. "Fine. The money is in New Vegas. I'll have to go and bring it back to you."

"Then, we'll keep Rex here while you're away," Calamity says. 

Courier scoffs again. "Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

"Calamity," Doc Henry admonishes. 

"You're not keeping Rex," Courier says, rising to her feet. "I'll kill you first."

"We'd give him back—after we collect our payment," Doc Henry says. 

Now, Courier does not intend to pay them, and she definitely does not intend to let the keep Rex. "Okay, fine. Hold onto Rex. I'll get the caps. I just need a few days."

Begrudgingly, she leaves Rex with them and goes to seek out Boone. Nervousness flitters in her stomach, and she tries to tamp it down as she knocks on his door. 

He answers and looks down at her. "What's up?"

"They're trying to extort ten thousand caps out of me by keeping Rex hostage until I pay them. I'm gonna kill them, so I need you to stop me."

"What the fuck?"

"Boone," she says, slowly, "we have to steal Rex out of the lab and get the hell out of here. They mentioned payment before, but they didn't say it was gonna be _ten thousand_. Our only option is to steal Rex back and go."

"Okay," he says. "Okay. We will. It'll be okay."

She believes him.

* * *

They wait until nightfall to break into the lab. That part is the easiest, since there is no door. However, Rex is locked up in a cage that is too small for him. He gets to his feet when they come in. His tail wags, hitting the bars on both sides. A big padlock hangs off the front of the cage. 

Courier's chest tightens. She is aware that Boone says something, but she doesn't hear it. "What?"

"I said, can you pick the lock?" Boone repeats. 

"Oh, uh, yeah." She takes a knee in front of the cage. She sticks one hand into the cage to pet Rex's muzzle while the other hand goes into her knapsack to search out her screwdriver and a bobby pin. 

Seven minutes later, the lock falls open, and she rips it from the cage as fast as she can. "C'mon, boy. Let's go home."

They steal out of the lodge and down the mountain. 

"I can't fuckin' believe them," Courier mutters, watching her step as they travel down a sheer hill in the road. 

"We got Rex back. It's fine."

"I should kill them."

"No, you shouldn't."

"I should at least beat them up."

"Maybe." 

Courier glances over at him and grins. 

He grins back, surprising her so that she stumbles down the last bit of the hill.


	15. Chapter 15

Courier lies on her side in her bed at the Lucky 38 and stares at Rex's new brain. It's still gray, but it looks fuller and healthier than his original one. She wonders if she burned a bridge by footing them the bill but ultimately decides it isn't worth worrying about right now. Rex is well, and he will be returned to the King in the morning. For now, she pets Rex's side until they both fall asleep. 

In her dreams, she is graveside, her wrists tied together. Her mouth tastes like death, and her knees hit ground that undulates like a stormy sea beneath her. When she looks up, she expects to see Benny in that hideous jacket, but she is alone. No one in sight. She tries to loosen her binds—then freezes when she feels a cold piece of metal touch her forehead, right where her scar is. 

She looks up again, but she doesn't get to see who it is. They pull the trigger, and she wakes up. 

She rolls over, her eyes blown wide open despite the darkness of the room. She gets up and crosses to the window, drawing Rex awake momentarily. He decides her being awake isn't important enough to warrant also getting up, so he goes back to sleep. 

Courier pulls aside the heavy curtain, and the room floods with the artificial light of the strip. She looks out into the distance for a while, unsure of what she is looking for.

* * *

It takes until sunrise for her to figure out what to do next. When Arcade comes up for breakfast, she tells him. 

"You want to get a job?" he asks, baffled. "Are you kidding?"

"I need to pay off the bill from Rex's surgery," she says. "I can't let the King pay for all of it."

"How noble of you. What did you have in mind?"

"The Crimson Caravan. I could run a few jobs for them, rack up some caps, and then go see the King."

"If you insist."

"You don't approve?"

"I think it'd be a waste of time, but it's up to you."

"Great." She gets up from the table. "I'll go now."

"Taking anyone with you?"

"Just Rex," she says, "but I'll ask Veronica if she wants to go, too."

"Perhaps ED-E would be a better choice if both of you are going."

"I'll take them both, then. Tell Boone we'll be back in a couple of weeks, yeah?"

Arcade nods his assent. "Be careful out there." 

"Always." She bounds across the foyer to Veronica’s room. 

Veronica answers Courier's knocks after a few moments. "What's up, Six?"

"I'm gonna get a job with the Crimson Caravan to help pay for Rex's surgery," Courier says. "Wanna come?"

"I thought you were okay with stiffing them."

"I was, but now I'm not. Is that a 'no'?"

"Oh, uh, sure. I'll go. But, um, what made you ask me?"

"Figured you'd want to travel a bit more than what we've been doing. Was I right?"

"You were," she says with a nod. "I'll pack a bag."

"I'll meet you down in the casino in thirty minutes."

* * *

Courier watches Rex very carefully as the quartet heads out to the Crimson Caravan. His gait seems faster, surer, and, overall peppier. It warms her heart to see him with so much energy. 

When they reach the compound, Courier asks around for Ringo. She finds him alone at a picnic table, eating off a plate piled with charred meat. He freezes at the sight of her, his cheeks rounded with food. 

"Hey, Ringo!" She sits down across from him as Veronica sits next to her. "Been a while, huh? How's it going?"

He swallows. "Uh... fine... How about you?"

"Great. So, I'm just gonna cut right to the chase. I'm looking for work. Got any?"

"Th-that's it?"

"You want more?"

"Uh..."

"You're real eloquent, you know that?"

Ringo shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm just surprised to see you, is all."

"I told you I'd be back, didn't I?"

"I mean, well, _yeah_ , but I didn't think you'd actually come back."

"It's alright. I'm not here to shake you down for more caps or anything."

"That's, uh, good to hear, I guess. But, if you're looking for work, I'd talk to Alice McLafferty about that. She's in charge here. Might be able to throw a job your way." He points to one of the barracks. "She should be in there."

"Cool, cool. Thanks, my guy." 

Courier and her companions head for the building he indicated. Inside, it takes a few moments for Courier's eyes to adjust to the dimness, but Alice McLafferty is difficult to miss. She sits behind a desk piled with paperwork and wears a crimson blazer. 

Courier marches up to her, all confidence. "Hi, there. I'm Courier Six, and I'm looking for work. I was told to come see you."

Alice looks up at Courier with a critical eye. "Is that so? Courier, you said?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So, you have experience making deliveries?"

The only delivery she can recall almost ended her life, but she says, "Yes, ma'am."

"Hmm." Alice considers Courier and Veronica for a while, and then she begins to shuffle through her paperwork. "I might have something for you, but it isn't a delivery. How good are you at convincing people to do things?"

Courier blinks at her. "I'd say I'm decent, but everyone is different. Why?"

"There's a competing caravanning company, and I'd like for you to convince the owner to sign her business over to us."

"I'll see what I can do. But, um, how much would I get?"

"Two hundred and fifty caps now for traveling costs and one thousand caps upon completion. Here." She hands Courier a document. "Have the owner—a 'Rose of Sharon Cassidy'—sign this and bring it back to me."

"Rose of Sharon Cassidy? Is that her name?"

Alice nods. "Last I've heard, she was hanging around the Mojave Outpost to the south, drinking herself into oblivion." 

Courier ignores the last comment. "Okay, great." She folds the document carefully and tucks it into her knapsack. "We'll head there now."

After receiving the caps, they set out, southbound.

* * *

The statues marking the Mojave Outpost loom over them as they climb the hill. They wind around rusted shells of tractor-trailers along the way and pass a merchant with a pack brahmin that are heading the opposite way. 

They pass underneath the gargantuan handshake into a standard military outpost. NCR troopers patrol the perimeter, and one of them stands guard on the roof of the lone solid building. Courier leads the way inside. 

The inside is dim, lit only by the sunlight filtering in through the dirty windows. They enter into a bar-like space with quiet patrons drinking from dust-speckled glasses. Courier strides up to the bar and rests her elbow on it. "Hey, there. I'm looking for someone named Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Heard of her?"

The bartender looks pointedly at the end of the bar, where a woman with a cowboy hat watches Courier and Veronica suspiciously. 

"Who wants to know?" she demands before throwing back the remainder of her whiskey. 

Courier smiles, happy that she found her so quickly, and then makes her way over. "Rose of—?"

The woman lifts her hand to stop Courier. "Just Cass is fine. Who the hell are you?"

"Courier Six. Nice to meet you." She holds out her hand. 

Cass returns with a firm handshake. "Courier Six, huh? That your name?"

“I mean, your name is—“

"We just call her Six," Veronica interjects. "Veronica, by the way." She shakes hands with Cass as well. 

"Alright, well, state your business, ladies," Cass says. "What d'you want with me?"

"Well," Courier says, bringing around her knapsack to fish out the document Alice McLafferty gave to her, "we're here to get your signature on this." She offers the paper to Cass. 

Cass reads over the document, her lips pursed. "You can tell Mc _Laff_ erty that she can _laugh_ herself all the way to her grave, because I ain't signin' this." She thrust the paper back into Courier's hands. "How'd she get you sorry fucks to come all the way down here?"

"Caps," Courier answers. 

"Of course it was caps." Cass laughs and signals the bartender for another drink. "Have a seat, ladies. First round's on me, since you're so hard on caps."

"That won't be necessary." Courier brings out the pouch intended for traveling costs. "We'll get it ourselves, and your—what?—seventeenth round?"

Cass grins wolfishly. "Good one. I'll hold you to it."

They receive their drinks, take their first stiff sips. Courier thinks if she continues to get paid to drink in a dingy bar in the middle of the desert, she won't mind having a job. 

"So, why won't you sign it?" Courier asks. 

"Sign over my business to _that_ she-demon?" Cass scoffs. "Pass. She can eat my entire ass. But, hey"—Cass lifts a finger off her glass at points it at Courier—"I need someone to come with me to the place where my last caravan got attacked. Would you, er, four mind coming along?"

"Your caravan got attacked? What the fuck?"

"Yeah, a week ago. I just want to see if I can salvage anything from the wreckage, and I could use extra hands. Dinner and drinks on me when we get back?"

"Sure. Veronica?"

"Uh, yeah. No problem," Veronica says. 

Within a few hours, they are standing over an upturned wagon and a charred brahmin carcass. A layer of ash covers the ground beneath the site. 

Courier toes a broken glass bottle. "Looks like it's all gone to shit."

"Uh, yeah, looks like it." Cass crouches near the wagon and lifts her hat only to brush stands of light brown hair back. "There's actually two other caravans I need to check out, if you guys don't mind. The trip will take a few days, but I'll throw in some caps for your trouble."

Courier considers Cass, then looks to Veronica. "I don't have a problem. Do you?"

"Nope. None at all," Veronica says. "Should we head back to the outpost for the night and get a fresh start in the morning?"

Cass straightens, her expression grim. "Good idea."

* * *

"This is just fuckin' suspicious," Cass says, kicking a tin can. "First, my caravan got burnt to a crisp, then this one's got a fuckin' _plasma rifle_ just lying here. I'm guessing the last one will be the same."

Courier snatches up the rifle and slings it over her shoulder before they move on.

* * *

Cass was right. Evidence of plasma weapons being used against the caravan is abundant, from the burnt brahmin to the scorched wagon to the gray ash—which Courier now realizes is the aftermath of a person being hit with a plasma round. She suppresses a shudder as Cass makes her way through the wreckage, kicking the ash around carelessly. After a while, Cass removes a flask from her jacket pocket and drinks heartily from it. 

"Uh, guys?" Veronica says. "There's... something down the hill over here."

Cass jogs toward Veronica, with Courier tailing her. 

Down the hill are three corpses. 

"Fucking hell," Courier and Cass say in unison. 

Then, Cass descends the hill as quickly as she can. She inspects the bodies for a few minutes, then yells, "I knew it!"

"What is it?" Veronica asks. 

"Fucking she-demon _is_ trying to put me out of business so she can buy my company! Bitch! I'll kill her myself! Her _and_ that bitch, Van Graff!"

"Okay, Cass, calm down," Courier says. "Who’re the stiffs?"

"Van Graff thugs and a Crimson Caravaner. The Van Graffs deal in weapons in Freeside. You already know about the Crimson Caravan." 

"Okay. Okay. What do you want to do about it, besides kill her?"

"If I can't kill them, I need concrete evidence," Cass says, and begins to climb back up the hill. "We have to go to Freeside and break into their shop, then we have to the same at—“

"Break into a weapons shop? Are you crazy? They'll vaporize us," Veronica says. 

"I can do it. It's fine," Courier says, recalling back to a night in Novac, when she broke into the main office for Boone. "But, what about McLafferty?"

"It should be easier," Cass says, "since the old hag is probably in bed by seven p.m."

Courier snorts. "To Freeside, then?"

"To Freeside."

* * *

They wait until nighttime to go to the Silver Rush, the Van Graffs' shop. Even then, there are guards posted outside the door. Courier has Cass wait in a nearby alley so she won't get spotted and attacked. Rex and ED-E stay with her for ease of stealth. 

"Okay," Courier says as she and Veronica round the corner to the Silver Rush, "I need you to create a distraction so I can sneak into the office."

"Oh, yeah. That'll be easy."

"I don't need your sarcasm right now—"

"No, I'm serious. Look." She points at the guards, who are sneaking off to another alleyway. "They left the entrance wide open."

Courier thanks the stars. "Nice. Let's move."

The pair sneaks inside the dead-quiet store. Veronica stays near the door as a lookout while Courier moves nearly silently around the sales floor. She finds the room labeled _Main Office_ easily, since it's nicely labeled and all. She tries the handle and finds it locked. 

"Of course," she mutters as she pulls out her makeshift lock-picking kit. 

Just as she gets the safe open within, she hears quiet shuffling behind her. She whips around to see Veronica crawling as quickly and quietly as she can into the office. 

Veronica pushes the door shut behind her and leans her back against it. "Um, small problem. The guards came back."

"I thought you were supposed to distract them," Courier hisses. 

"Big problem, then."

"Christ. Okay. What do we do?"

"Hell if I know."

"Great." Courier turns back to the safe and rifles through the contents. "Maybe Cass will realize we've been gone too long and do something about it."

She finds what she is looking for: a letter from Alice McLafferty detailing the plan to run Cass's caravan out of business to eliminate the competition. 

A few minutes later, gunshots ring out outside—causing Courier and Veronica to jump—and then the unmistakable sound of Rex barking aggressively. 

"Is that Cass?" Veronica whispers. 

"I sure hope so." Courier sneaks over to the door and peeks out to the sales floor. It's still void of people, but then Cass throws open the front door. 

"Six, Ronnie, come on out," she says. 

Courier stands and helps Veronica to her feet. "What happened to the guards?" 

"Rex, the metal ball—"

"ED-E."

"—and I killed 'em." She gestures for them to join her. 

Outside the store lie the mangled bodies of the guards. Rex's muzzle is darkened with blood. His head cocks and his tail wags at the sight of Courier. 

She pats the back of his neck. "Good boy, Rex." She looks at Cass. "Found the evidence." 

"Good. Thanks." Cass holds out her hands and gestures with her fingers. "Let me take a look at it." 

"We should probably move the bodies and get outta here first."

"Right." Cass shakes her head. "Duh. Sorry. Adrenaline is still high."

"No worries. Give me a hand with this one."

* * *

Cass's lips tighten—as well as the fingers wrapped around her glass—as she reads over the letter. "Those fuckers. I shoulda killed the Van Graffs while we were there."

"Probably not the best idea," Veronica says, "since they're pretty important people and all. And, well, you'd probably be the number-one suspect."

Cass shakes her head. "Right. Gotta keep telling myself that."

Courier signals the Atomic Wrangler's bartender for another round for Cass and herself. "Alright, so, we just need to find Van Graff's reply in McLafferty's office, I guess. That should be proof enough, right?"

"Yup. Hopefully." Cass finishes off her drink just as the new one arrives. "After we get that, I'm gonna give it all to Ranger Jackson down at the Outpost. He should take care of things from there."

"What d'you think he'll do?" Veronica asks.

"Probably hand it off to higher-ups so they can figure out how to handle it. I dunno. He's a good guy. I trust him to do what's right."

"You trust the NCR with this?" Courier inquires. 

"The NCR are a bunch of pricks with sticks stuck up their asses, but they know about justice," Cass says.

Courier nods. She knows about justice, too.

Cass shrugs. "It's whatever right now, though. We need to find evidence from the Van Graffs before we can do anything about it."

"And we'll find it. But, uh... I'm curious about what happens to you afterward."

Cass raises a thin, reddish brown eyebrow. A wicked grin splits her face. "You worried about little ol' me, Six? Cute."

Courier rolls her eyes. "I mean, will you go back into caravanning?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't decided yet."

"Would you perhaps be interested in liberating New Vegas?"

Cass's lips purse as she considers Courier. "Liberating it from who? Mr. House?"

Courier nods again. "I haven't figured out all the details yet, but I'm working on it. Besides Veronica, I have a couple of other friends that are helping me. I couldn't pay you, but, to be honest, I think it'll be worth it in the end."

"Hmm." Cass swirls the liquid in her glass pensively. "Interesting proposition you got there. I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask. Now, when should we hit up the Crimson Caravan?"

"After this last drink." Cass lifts her glass, clinks it against Courier's scotch and Veronica's water. "Bottom's up!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i’ve been having a bit of writer’s block for the last few months. i hope this holds up to previous standards i’ve set for myself

Courier feels like she is betraying _someone_ as she picks the lock on McLafferty's safe. The feeling vanishes, however, when she comes up with the Van Graffs' reply, agreeing to work with McLafferty to put Cass out of business. Victorious, she sneaks out of the building, careful not to wake McLafferty, who sleeps soundly just six feet away. 

Courier marches proudly up to Cass, who waits by the eastern gate into Freeside. They had sent Veronica back to the Lucky 38 to let Arcade and Boone know that Courier would return with a new friend during the night.

When she gets to Cass, Courier displays the letter proudly. "Here ya go."

Cass takes the letter and quickly scans it. "Perfect." She looks at Courier. "Thank you for this. I think I owe ya more than caps."

Courier waves her off. "Don't worry about it. I help all my friends, any way I can."

Cass smiles. "Let's go hit the hay. I want to leave for the Outpost at dawn."

Together, they head through Freeside and to the gate onto the Strip.The Securitrons stop Cass to check for either a passport or two thousand caps. She produces the caps from her backpack, and they're let onto the Strip.

Courier sets up Cass with a pillow and blanket in the living room of the presidential suite before heading for the kitchen in search of something to eat. 

After some consideration, she decides to fry up a brahmin steak. Once it's seared on both sides, she transfers the slab of sizzling meat to the plate. In no way would she consider herself a chef—especially since her only cooking experience was back at the Ultra-Luxe—but this steak is making her mouth water. She grabs a cold can of purified water from the refrigerator and seats herself at the head of the table. Without further ado, she digs in. 

Midway through her meal, she notices Boone standing in the threshold with his arms crossed, watching her. She wipes a line of juice from her chin with the back of her hand and says, "Can I help you?"

"I was just wondering," he says, stepping fully into the kitchen, "who was cooking at two in the morning."

"Shouldn't you be on your own floor this time of night?" 

"I came up to see you, actually. I thought you might be asleep, but I wanted to check anyway."

Courier bites back her surprise. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. You did leave without saying goodbye, after all."

"I did? I thought I asked Arcade to tell you that Veronica and I were heading out."

"Oh, you did."

Her eyebrow quirks. "Then, what's the issue?"

"I just thought that if you were going off without me, you'd tell me yourself."

"Oh." She blinks at him, taken aback. "I didn't know it mattered that much to you."

He shrugs. "It's just common courtesy. I would do the same for you." 

"Then, I should tell you we're heading back out in a few hours for the Mojave Outpost." 

"Alright." He nods at her plate. "Your dinner is getting cold." With that, he leaves. 

She looks down at the steak. "Right," she mutters to herself. She has the suspicion that she may have hurt his feelings, but it doesn't make sense. Boone doesn't display feelings, so it's difficult to discern if he actually has them or if he just fakes it.

* * *

Courier waits by the bar for Cass to finish her business with the NCR. She sits there, staring blankly at the shelves of liquor behind the bar, and fends off unwanted advances from a drunk too far gone to realize he's about to get himself kneecapped. 

Luckily, Cass comes back just as he is going for his third attempt at flirting. He takes one look at Cass and turns right back around. 

Courier snorts. "Wish I could have that effect on men."

"It's a learned trait." Cass steals a swig from Courier's drink. "Now that that's taken care of, what's next?"

"I'm thinking about checking out the Gomorrah on the Strip. Seems like the next-easiest part of the plan."

Cass lowers her voice. "Your plan to take over New Vegas, you mean?"

"Yeah, that plan."

"Bunch of half-naked people running around at the Gomorrah, so I'm definitely down."

Courier grins, unable to help herself. "We're there for business first, pleasure second. Remember that."

Cass mock-salutes. "Aye-aye."

* * *

Courier and Cass head to the Gomorrah alone, deciding to fetch the others only if the situation demands it. 

After giving up most of their weapons to the Omertas, they wander through the casino. Cass only has eyes for the bar and the strippers, but Courier is looking out for so much more. Despite the overt chem use in various corners of various rooms, sexual encounters of the public variety, and the lack of anyone caring about either, Courier finds herself thinking, _At least they're not killing and eating each other_. 

At one point, Courier leaves Cass in Brimstone, the casino's club, to have some fun while she goes out into the courtyard for some air. The night sky above her is washed out by the lights of the Strip. 

She takes a seat on a cushioned bench near the door and looks around. Prostitutes draw men and women into the gauzy lining the courtyard. God only knows what goes on in there. But, even with the King less than a twenty-minute walk from the Strip, Courier finds herself wondering what services they offer. 

She doesn't wonder for too long, as one of the prostitutes, a petite woman in lingerie, approaches her. "Well, what do we have here, huh?" she purrs, standing confidently before Courier. "Let me guess. You've heard about the mistress who makes all your fantasies come true."

"Uh... can't say I have, sorry."

The woman's full lips turn down in a frown. "You've never heard of Joana of the Gomorrah?"

Courier shakes her head, says, "Sorry" again. 

"Hm, well, I could show you, if you want. For a price, of course."

"Oh, um, thanks for the offer," Courier says, heat rising in her cheeks, "but I'm not interested in... that."

"No? Well, what're you doing here, then?" Joana inquires, seemingly genuine. 

"Just came out to get some air." Courier pauses. "Say, how long have you worked here?"

"A couple'a years. Why?"

"You know anything about the Omertas?"

Joana rolls her eyes, then plops down next to Courier, the air of forced sultriness dissipating. "Lot of brutes, they are. Especially that Cachino." She groans and shakes her head. 

"Cachino?"

"He... He ran out my beau, Carlitos. Poor thing is holed up in Vault Twenty-One down the street, trying to figure out a way to get me out of here. We've almost got a plan, but it's hard to contact him."

Courier blinks at Joana. "They won't let you leave?"

Joana grimaces. "Cachino thinks he owns me."

A lick of anger tightens up Courier's chest. "I could kill him for you."

"What?" Joana's head whips toward Courier. "No, no. That's probably not a good  
idea. But—but you could do something else for me, if it's no trouble."

"What is it?"

"I have a note I want to give Carlitos, but I can hardly ever get anyone to pass notes for me. Would you mind taking it over there to him? I'd be so grateful."

"No problem."

Joana smiles broadly, then throws her arms around Courier. "Thank you, thank you. I'll go get the note. You stay right here." She runs off up a flight of stairs to the side of the courtyard. When she returns, she holds a folded piece of paper. She presses it into Courier's hand and then holds that hand with both of hers. "Please don't lose it. It's _really_ important."

Courier hesitates, but only because she realizes what's going on here. Joana is essentially a sex slave for the Gomorrah. The idea sends a wave of nausea rolling through her. She gives Joana's hand a gentle squeeze. "I got you."

For the next hour, Courier manages to ferry notes between Joana and Carlitos to concrete the plan to escape. 

The last time Courier goes back to Joana, Joana asks, "Would you—I mean, I hate to ask this of you, since we don't know each other, but—would you come with me to Freeside? You look tough enough that nobody will try to mess with us."

Courier grins at the compliment. "Absolutely. Let me get my friend from Brimstone, and we'll go."

Courier gathers a surprisingly-sober Cass from the club and explains to her what is about to go down on the way back to Joana. 

"Christ, Six," Cass says as they enter the courtyard. "You always get yourself into messes like this?"

"Ya. It happens." Courier waves at Joana, who is dressed in normal, Strip-goer clothing. 

"I do so love escort missions," Cass mutters under her breath. 

Courier ignores her. "You ready to go?"

Joana nods, and Courier leads the way to the Gomorrah's foyer with Cass bringing up the rear. They collect their weapons from the Omerta behind the desk, who doesn't give the other woman with them a second a glance. 

Once they are safely outside, Cass taps Courier on the shoulder. "That seem a little too easy to you?"

Now that Cass has mentioned it, Courier feels the suspicion, too. "Keep your eyes peeled. We have a little bit of a walk ahead of us." She keeps her hands swinging at her sides, in case she needs to whip out her bat. 

Near the gate out of Freeside, they spot Carlitos waiting with his hands in his pockets. Joana rushes ahead. At the sight of Joana, he straightens and runs to meet her, wrapping his arms around her and twirling her about. The reunion warms Courier's heart—until two men come out of a nearby alleyway and head for Joana and Carlitos. 

Courier grabs hold of her bat and brings it around, prepared to swing. 

When the thugs reveal pistols, Joana and Carlitos make a run for it. Courier's heart drops into her stomach. 

"Fuck!" Cass grabs Courier and pushes her down behind a rusted car. "They're gonna kill them, Six!"

"We better kill 'em first, then." Courier peeks over the hood of the car as the thugs go after Joana and Carlitos. She breaks into a sprint, pumping her legs as fast as she can. If she can catch up to them, she can—at the very least—break a couple of legs. 

She catches up at the dead end of an alley, where the men have got the couple cowering in the corner. Without hesitation, she brings her bat all the way back and swings at the nearest one's head with as much strength as she can muster. 

The man drops like a sack of flour. Her arms shake as they absorb the shock of the blow. She didn't mean to hit him in the head. Just his shin or knee... A bizarre thought enters her mind as the other man turns to face the threat: How many people has she killed before?

The man raises his pistol and aims it at Courier's face. 

Courier cocks her bat over her shoulder. "Try it, bitch."

Just as his finger moves to the trigger, a deafening gunshot rings out. A red dot appears on the man’s forehead, and a line of blood travels down the side of his nose. It takes a painfully long moment for his muscles to go lax and crumple. 

Courier turns to find Cass standing in the street, the barrel of her rifle resting against her shoulder. She tips her hat at Courier. "Knew it couldn't be that easy.”

Courier salutes Cass with two fingers before turning back around. She attempts to appear calm, but she is shaken to the core. 

Joana flings herself at Courier once again. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. How can we repay you?"

"Stay safe out there." Courier pats Joana awkwardly on the back. "That's all."

Joana pulls back to look at Courier. "I'll give you something else, then. You asked about the Omertas earlier, so I'll tell you what little I know. They're in some shady business. I'm not sure what, but you should ask around the Gomorrah. The other ladies, the bartenders. You may find some answers." 

"Shady business," Courier repeats, unsurprised. "Of course. Thank you. You guys should get going before they send more thugs."

They file out into the street. Courier watches them slip out the gate as Cass strolls over to stand beside her. 

"You did a good thing here," Cass says.

"I try." Courier turns to Cass. "Thanks for saving my sorry ass. A bat probably isn't the best defense against a gun."

"Pretty impractical, if you ask me."

Courier scoffs and turns toward the Strip. "Good thing I didn't ask."

* * *

Back home in the Lucky 38, Courier sits in bed and squeezes her eyes shut, but the spray of blood still arcs across her vision. She killed Boxcars back in Nipton so easily... Why is this different?

She curls up against the pillows. She opens her eyes so she doesn't see the blood anymore. 

Someone knocks on the door. 

“Go away,” she says. 

“Six, it's me,” Boone says. “And Rex.”

“Still go away. I’m sleeping.”

The door opens, and the light from the foyer blinds her momentarily. 

“We need to talk.” He closes the door behind him and flicks on the light. Rex jumps up onto the bed and curls up at her side. 

Courier sits up and glares at Boone. “What’s so important that you had to interrupt my nap?”

The sunglasses give the impression of him gazing impassively back at her. “That's the thing: You've been napping for two days. What's going on?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “What's wrong with that?”

“I thought you were going to investigate the Gomorrah.”

“And I have to do that right away?”

“That's what it seemed like you were going to do. What happened with Cass?”

“Nothing happened with _Cass_.” She bites her lip, debating on whether or not she should share. 

“Now I _know_ you're hiding something. What happened?”

She inhales deeply and spills the truth about killing Boxcars and the Omerta thug. 

Boone considers her story for a few moments. “Maybe,” he begins, “it's because Boxcars was a mercy-killing and the Omerta wasn't.”

Courier blank stare starts on him, the lists to the right. “Mercy-killing?”

“Yeah. I know a thing or two about it, and that's what it sounds like.”

Her gaze transfers back to him. “From your time in the army?”

“My time in the army, yeah.” He clears his throat. “You did what you had to do, Courier. It was you or him, and I’m honestly glad you chose him.”

Courier blinks at the use of her first name. “What did you just call me?”

He blanches, obviously stunned by the slip-up. “Huh? Oh. I, um… I have to go… check on ED-E.”

Courier points to the corner in which ED-E is hovering, minding its own business. “ED-E’s right there.”

Boone looks at ED-E, then back to Courier. “Well, it looks like it's fine. I’ll go now.” Before another word can be said, he leaves the room. 

She stares at the door for a moment longer before letting herself fall back on the pillows.


	17. Chapter 17

“Six, you look like hell,” Veronica says, pouring coffee into Courier’s mug. 

Courier, her chin held up by her palm, looks at the black liquid. Her eyes burn with each blink. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I meant, thanks for the coffee. Jackass.”

Veronica harrumphs and passes off the percolator to Arcade, who doesn’t even look up from the book he has open on the table. “When was the last time you got more than a few hours of sleep?”

The question catches Arcade’s attention. He closes the book and lifts his eyebrows. “Now that it’s been mentioned, I’m also curious.”

Courier sighs and lifts the mug. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t exactly keep a journal.”

“Maybe ED-E keeps a log,” Veronica suggests. 

“Not worth investigating,” Arcade says. He turns to Courier. “I don’t normally suggest this to the patients back at the Fort, but you need drugs.”

“ _Christ_ , Arcade,” Courier says, appalled that he would suggest such a thing. 

“Not anything too strong,” he amends, holding up a hand to placate her. “Just something to help you sleep. I may be able to make something for you.”

“Oh, I... I dunno. The only drugs I’ve ever really taken were stimpaks—I mean, as far as I know—and those are good for you.”

“Well. That’s debatable.” 

“Okay, maybe not _good_ for you, but, y’know, better than, like, Med-X.”

“Just about anything is better for you than Med-X.”

“I know! Fuck! Can I make comparisons without you jumping down my goddamn throat?!”

Veronica and Arcade stare at Courier and then exchange a glance. In unison, they lift their mugs to their mouths and take sips of their coffees. Neither of them say a word.

“Yeesh! Who pissed in your Sugar Bombs?” Cass says as she comes into the kitchen, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. 

“Her lack of sleep did, apparently,” Arcade says, and offers Cass the percolator as she sits. 

“Oh?” Cass’s eyebrow raises, but her eyes stay trained on the coffee she is pouring. “Can’t sleep, Six?”

Courier doesn’t respond. She rubs her aching temples, wishing she was asleep. How many days has it been?

“Easy fix. You just need to drink more.”

“Drugs, alcohol—what’s next, kill someone else?” Courier says. She looks to Veronica. “Any suggestions?”

“Punch something?” Veronica offers with a shrug. “Always makes me—”

“Wait,” Arcade interjects, and all attention comes to him. His brown eyes assess Courier with cold calculation. “Is that the problem, Six? You killed someone, and you don’t think you’d ever killed someone before?”

Courier shrinks in upon herself as the other looks back at her. Normally, she likes the attention; now, she just wants to eat breakfast in peace. “I killed someone before,” she says, almost defensive. “Just... not like that.”

“What do you mean?”

She explains the difference, as she had to Boone a few days ago: Boxcars was a mercy-killing; the Omerta thug was most definitely _not_. Not only that—she realizes as she speaks—but she used a gun to kill Boxcars and a bat for the thug. 

“Maybe it was the proximity, too,” Cass says once Courier finishes. “All up-close and personal. Can’t be too easy for your baby brain to handle.”

Courier’s bottom lip juts out in Cass’s direction. “I’m not a baby.”

“No, I know you’re not... Your brain is.”

Courier opens her mouth to argue, but Veronica cuts her off with: “So, what’s the solution here? We give her drugs? Get her drunk? Have her kill someone else?”

Courier’s stomach roils with the thought of having to commit another murder. She covers her face with her hands. “Maybe—maybe something else... Maybe I’ll punch something?”

“I like that idea,” Veronica says. 

The elevator dings. A fourth humanoid figure enters the kitchen. She peeks through her fingers at Boone. He walks in, takes the percolator, and leaves. 

Cass scowls in confusion. “Uh...”

Seconds pass, and then Boone comes back. He swipes an empty mug from the table, one that Arcade had pulled down for him anyway when they had initially entered. 

“Uh,” Cass says again, “hold on a sec, there, Boone.”

Courier drops her hands and looks at Boone, who halts awkwardly in the threshold, his back to them. 

He turns around, percolator in one hand and mug in the other. “What?”

“You gonna eat anything? We got a big day today. Takin’ Six out to fight something.”

Boone’s face angles toward Courier. Though in more relaxed clothing than his travel attire, he is still equipped with his sunglasses and beret. “What?”

“We’re trying to figure out something to help her sleep,” Arcade says. “I’m not sure fighting something is the best option, but—“

“Look at her!” Cass says, gesturing at Courier. “She looks like a fucking _Ghoul_. We’re desperate.” 

Boone seems to be looking at Courier, and then his attention shifts to the opposite side of the table. “Has she told you what’s—?”

“I told them,” Courier interrupts, folding her arms along the edge of the table. The dinged-up chrome edging scratches her skin, but she makes no move to seek comfort. 

Boone begins pouring himself a cup of coffee as he stands in the threshold. “What about your grandma, Six?”

Courier’s eyes widen, then dart around the table at the others. Veronica looks vaguely confused. Cass looks extremely confused. Arcade looks indifferent as usual. 

“Grandma? What grandma?” Cass asks. 

“You didn’t tell them we met your grandma?” Boone asks Courier. 

Courier scowls at him. “No. I didn’t. Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m interested to hear why you think that doesn’t matter,” Arcade says. 

Courier’s shoulders lift up to her ears. “I’m not the person I was before I got a bullet lodged in my fuckin’ head, so what if it, like, scares her when I show up at her door with a baseball bat covered in blood and say, ‘Hey, Nana! I’m comin’ to see you because I just killed a guy, and I don’t know how I feel about it’?”

“You don’t know what kind of person you were,” Veronica says, “but maybe she could help you figure it out. Maybe scrambling people’s brains is normal for you?”

The notion that she could have been a ruthless killer—Courier does not like it. She swallows hard and slumps down in her seat. 

“I say it would be worth talking to her,” Arcade says. “Maybe she can help you figure out who you really are. But only if you actually want to. No use going all the way down there if you’re not going to say anything to her.”

Courier shrugs. She doesn’t particularly want to go see the old broad... but they could have a point. If the woman knew Courier before, she could provide a lot of answers. 

Courier stands up, coffee mug in hand. “I’ll go. _But_ ”—she levels her index finger at Arcade and stares into his green eyes—“I want you to come with me.”

Arcade blinks and draws back in surprise. “ _Me_?”

She doesn’t know why she wants Arcade to go. Maybe it’s his levelheadedness; maybe it’s the fact that he is, in fact, not Boone. “Look. You wanna go or not? I can take...” Her eyes trace the faces in the room, both human and inhuman. “Rex.”

“Why wouldn’t you take him anyway?” Boone asks.

She ignores that, her eyes focusing back on Arcade. “So? What do you say? Wanna meet my grandma?”

Arcade collects himself. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

Traveling with Arcade is vastly different than with Boone. He talks more, for one. For another, he says things besides _Fiends up ahead_ or _Pay attention, Six_.

“That’s a myth,” Arcade says as they walk past the Gun Runners’ compound. “Fingernails and hair _don’t_ keep growing after you die.”

“Then, explain it with your science, Do _c_ ,” Courier says, swinging her bat in a circle at her side. 

“The skin retracts around the hair follicles and nail beds, making it seem like they’re growing, but it’s really just showing what’s already grown underneath.” He looks over at Courier, grinning. “You really thought they’d just... keep growing? Forever?”

“I don’t know! Maybe!” 

“So, if they dug you out of the ground in a hundred years, you think your hair and nails would be really long?”

The smile slips off her face suddenly, and her steps slow to a halt. 

Arcade turns around, pale eyebrows raised over the rims of his glasses. “Six?”

Her hand comes up to her forehead. She runs her fingers over the subtle ridges of the scar. 

“Did I say something?” he asks, concern drawing his features close.

She looks up at him—and he’s much taller than her. Taller than Boone, even. “You know how I got this scar, right?”

“You, ah, got shot.”

“Yeah. The fuck-o in the checkered jacket.”

“I recall you mentioning that, yeah.”

“Right.” She chuckles ruefully. “I did kinda open with that when we met, didn’t I?”

A hesitant smile spreads across his mouth. “You did. Your candor is part of the reason I decided to come with you.”

She drops her hand and shoves it into the front pocket of her jeans. She keeps walking, and Arcade falls into step beside her. “Sorry. I just—I just forget sometimes that I should be dead right now.”

He inhales like he is going to speak—but he doesn’t say anything. 

She shakes her head. “Anyway. What was the other part?”

“Hm?”

“The reason you decided to come with me.”

“Oh, that?” He shrugs. “I was getting tired of the humdrum life of a post-apocalyptic medical researcher.”

“Humdrum, huh? I’d think eating different kinds of dirt for science would be more exciting.”

Arcade laughs heartily, clutching his stomach. “Well, what about you? You think being a courier was exciting?”

“I mean, I got shot in the head and lived, so... probably.” 

“Besides that.”

“Besides that?” Courier aims a kick at a loose chunk of asphalt, sending it several yards ahead. “I probably did a lot of this—walking. You know. Carrying stuff. Delivering said stuff. Walking some more.”

He snorts. “I’m hoping your grandma can tell us more about what you were like before. I’m very interested in hearing all about what you were like as a kid.”

“I’m kinda... anxious, if I’m being honest. I’ve been _myself_ for a while—whatever that means—and I’m just not sure if I’ll be myself after.”

“Well,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve at his elbow, “no matter what this woman has to say about you, you’ll have the choice to still be Courier Six.”

Courier finds comfort in that. She nudges Arcade with her elbow. “I hope so.”

 

The sun is close to setting when they get close to Novac. Courier’s feet seem to slow their pace of their own accord. 

Arcade picks up on her hesitation. He slows alongside her. “Nervous, huh?”

She shakes her head and hopes it’s a convincing enough gesture that he won’t continue.

It isn’t, because he says, “It’s not too late to turn around and go home, you know. We could stay the night and go back in the morning.”

She looks to the east, where she can see the hazy silhouette of the junkyard. She looks to Novac, where the giant Dinky monument stands, looking over the desert. “I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” 

They make their way to the Dino Dee-lite Motel’s office, where Cliff from the gift shop sits at the front desk. He looks up from some papers on the desk as they enter. Recognition crosses his face when he sees Courier. “Hey, there. I remember you. Courier Six, right? Figured out it was Jeannie May who sold Boone’s wife?”

Courier’s stomach turns as she recalls reading the incriminating bill of sale, crouched right behind that desk. “Uh, yeah, that was me.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Damn shame. I never would’ve guessed it was her.”

“Yeah, looks really can be deceiving, I guess. Anyway, ah, you got any rooms available?”

“Actually, I got something for you.” He spins around in his office chair and opens a lockbox on the wall that reveals six hooks. He takes one of the three keys hanging within and turns back around. “For Boone, room number three’s all yours, as long as you want it.”

Courier takes the key without thinking—and then it hits her. “Wait, what? Mine? For free?”

“Yeah. You did a good thing... even if it did involve breaking into the office in the middle of the night to do so.”

Courier’s eyebrows rise. How did he know?

He smiles, seemingly knowing what she’s thinking. “I was heading back to my house that night and saw you fiddlin’ with the lock. Knowin’ you went up to talk to Boone earlier, I figured what you were up to, decided it wasn’t any of my business—and I went on my way.”

“Oh.” Courier realizes, suddenly, that Arcade probably doesn’t know about Boone’s wife. “Well, thanks for keeping that to yourself.”

“Sure thing. Y’all have a good night, alright?”

Courier gives a mock-salute and heads back into the night with Arcade. 

The short walk up to the room is silent, but she can practically hear the cogs turning in Arcade’s head. 

When they get inside, each of them kicking off their shoes by the door, Arcade looks at Courier and says, “I didn’t know Boone was married.”

“No? Strange he never mentioned it to you.”

“Boone and I aren’t exactly great friends, so, no, it’s not strange at all.”

She frowns, keeping her eyes down as she moves to sit on the end of the musty couch. “I wouldn’t mention it, if I were you.” She undoes the clasp on her Pip-Boy and sets it down on the television stand. 

“Trust me when I say, I wouldn’t dare.” He sits at the foot of the only bed and interlaced his fingers in his lap as he looks around the smallish room. “Who’s sleeping where?”

“What, you don’t wanna cuddle?”

Arcade snorts. “We just sweated in the sun all day. I’ll pass for tonight, thanks. Besides,” he says, removing his jacket and scooting further onto the bed, “you’re not exactly my type.”

“Too much of a wild card for ya, Doc?”

“Too much of ‘not a man’ for me, if I’m being honest.”

She smiles to herself and gets up to swipe the blanket before Arcade can get too comfortable. 

“Hey,” he says, halfheartedly, as he sets his glasses on the nightstand. 

“We just sweated all day, remember? You really need this?”

He mumbles something she can’t quite hear. 

She flops onto the couch, covering herself with the equally musty blanket. “‘Night.”

“‘Night.” 

She rolls over to face the back of the couch and closes her eyes. Even if she doesn’t fall asleep, lying down with her eyes closed is better than no rest at all.


End file.
